


The Kind Years

by sugar_is_poison



Series: The Years [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Growing Up, Inspired by 5 Centimeters Per Second (2007), M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Post-Break Up, Post-Time Skip, Separations, Tears, but not like porn level i don’t think, kiddie pools r scary, like.. a lot of them, sorta no beta we die like men?, spoilers for post time skip... don't say i didn't warn ya, this fic spans six years so.. yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:41:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27131959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugar_is_poison/pseuds/sugar_is_poison
Summary: On Bokuto Koutarou's graduation day, Akaashi Keiji breaks up with him.Six cherry blossoms pass. Where will time take them?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Inunaki Shion
Series: The Years [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983110
Comments: 25
Kudos: 46
Collections: Haikyuu Angst Week 2020





	1. The Kind Years

**Author's Note:**

> \- tw: mentions of mental instability, explicit sexual content  
> \- cw: mentions of food and alcohol  
> \- took some liberty w the timing and logistics of certain sport events  
> \- im not japanese, so pls take the cultural references in this fic w a grain of salt :)  
> \- ch1 is the actual fic, the unnecessary ch2 is my rambling abt inspirations, certain choices i made for the fic and literature themes i tried to explore.  
> \- ty ty ty to my best friend [dietryingirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietryingirl) for reading this and (sort of) betaing for me. ur support rly got me thru so thank u.  
> \- pls buckle up and enjoy. its a long ride my friends.

**Spring, 2012**

Cherry blossoms bloom on the day of Koutarou’s graduation. Fukurodani is showered in a sea of baby pink petals, and their aroma seeps through every corner of campus. It is a brilliant day in April. 

Koutarou has imagined at least ten million scenarios as to how he would make his exit from Fukurodani, probably jumping midair, running, folding his graduation certificate into a paper airplane, chucking it away (because he’s cool like that), and screaming “I’m off suckers!” to his kouhais as he embarks on a new adventure. 

But instead, Koutarou finds himself standing underneath _the_ cherry tree, tears dripping down his chin and his chest wrenching in pain, as Akaashi watches with guilt in his eyes. 

_The_ cherry tree as in the cherry tree they always sit under and have lunch together. 

_The_ cherry tree as in the cherry tree that has seen them make out way too many times. 

_The_ cherry tree as in the cherry tree that, his boyfriend (for two fucking years, mind you), suggests that they “take a break.” 

“An-and why wo-would I want tha-at?” Koutarou sobs and hiccups involuntarily, barely forming full words. His eyes sting, a lot, so he mentally kicks at himself for not wearing “the pants”--an expression Sarukui came up with. “To be the ace in the relationship,” Sarukui had tried using other ways of explaining it but resorted to a volleyball analogy and Koutarou finally understood and added it to his daily vocabulary. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi reaches out a hand to take Koutarou's. 

Koutarou turns to his side, slightly avoiding the dark haired boy’s hand. But it finds his, nonetheless. The long fingers are soft to the touch, unlike Koutarou’s rough calloused ones, and it makes him feel just a little better. Just a little though. 

Koutarou sniffs. 

Koutarou is not dumb. He understands completely why Akaashi would make this request right now, and has been mentally preparing himself for it. 

After graduating, Koutarou will keep training for volleyball until the new recruit season comes up. And once he gets his offer as a professional volleyball player (fingers crossed that he does), he would train even more and it would be a blessing if he can have two--maybe three if we’re being optimistic--hours left to himself per day. And that is if he doesn’t pass out the moment he gets home from physical exhaustion. 

Things will even complicate itself more with Akaashi’s schedule since he is going to be in his third and final year of high school. Thankfully Koutarou didn’t need to go through the whole cram school situation since he has one goal and one goal alone in his life and that is to play volleyball but that is not what Akaashi wants to do. No no _no_ sir his brilliant amazing pretty setter boyfriend had to fall in love with literature earlier this year and then decided to go for a Japanese Literature major in college. College! Does he even realize how much work that will be to even try getting into a decent one? But then again Akaashi is always capable so the entrance exam is probably not that big of a deal but what about after getting in college? What _then_ ? Akaashi will probably live around his college--wherever that may be--and would have classes all day. Not considering the physical distance between them, aligning their schedule would be a pain in the ass from the start. Wait, how does a college student’s schedule look again? Koutarou has heard tales of college students waking up at noon and only having night classes so that’s an option too… _right_? 

Koutarou is sure that steam is visibly coming out of his ears just from all the mental work he is doing, and Akaashi’s somehow-even-more-concerned face proves him right. His emerald eyes are glassy, and from the looks of his down-sloping eyebrows, he looks like he is about to cry too. And Koutarou won’t allow that. 

Akaashi is not allowed to be unhappy in his presence. Nope.

“No!” and so he exclaims, scaring both himself and an Akaashi on the verge of breaking. 

“No,” Koutarou whispers as he takes Akaashi’s hand into both hands, his face now all tight and tingly from the drying tears, “I don’t want you to be upset.” He thinks a little harder then added, “but I don't want a break with you either.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, his free hand combing through Koutarou’s messy locks--Koutarou almost purrs like a fucking kitten but thank god he doesn’t (again, not wearing “the pants”), “you know we both need to figure some stuff out on our own.”

Koutarou stays silent. Because he knows. 

He hangs his head, looking at the tip of his beaten up sneakers. 

“We can still see each other, though,” Akaashi dips his head and hunches over, finding Koutarou’s eyes, “and we can text.”

“You’re a shitty texter,” Koutarou mumbles, eyes darting away. He drops Akaashi’s hand. 

“I’m sorry I can’t understand the necessity of ten million text emojis trailing after something as simple as an ‘ok’, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi chuckles, but it sounds tighter than his usual laugh--Koutarou’s chest hurts from hearing it, “I think it’s a very ‘you’ thing and I shouldn’t steal it from you.”

“Liar,” Koutarou snaps, but doesn’t quite muster one percent of how angry he intends to sound. He wants to tell how insecure Akaashi’s texting makes him feel sometimes but swallows the sentence down and finds something else to say instead, “would you at least call?”

He knows all too well this is his way of surrender. And so does Akaashi. The tension in his boyfriend’s--now, _ex_ -boyfriend’s, Koutarou’s bitchy inner commentary points out sarcastically--posture vanishes. His smile, though still bitter, seems a little more relieved. 

“I will, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi promises, extending his right pinky, “I promise.”

“Careful not to make any promise you can’t keep, ’kaashi,” Koutarou reluctantly locks their pinkies together. He is only joking, but there’s that insecurity again. He is scared. Horrified, actually. Looking into the black hole called “future” alone is not something Koutarou dares to do. He probably really has virtually no “pants”. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi uses their interlocked fingers to draw Koutarou in a little closer, and whispers with a voice Koutarou can barely hear, “I don’t want to sound contemptuous but, I am pretty good at keeping promises, aren’t I?” 

“You are...” Koutarou answers, his nose getting a little sore and his throat clumping up, “what… what does contemptuous mean again?” 

Koutarou _does_ know what contemptuous means. But he asks, nonetheless, because it’s a routine they have. Plus Akaashi always smiles at word definition questions like this. And right now, he desperately needs to see a smile from him. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls his name in a gently accusing way, lips curling up as Koutarou expects, “you’re gonna be an adult soon, what should you even do without me?” 

The usual punchline would be delivered by Koutarou, and he would proudly shout “I don’t know! That’s why I stick with Akaashi!” all the while swinging his arms around the setter’s shoulders. And Akaashi would try to look mad. And he would succeed, for about five seconds. Twelve seconds was his record--Koutarou counted once. Then he would laugh with Koutarou. 

But now, the joke is left there midair, awkwardly hanging. 

“I… don’t know, ’kaashi,” Koutarou sighs, he sits down on the ground casually and lifts his head up to look at the sky through the pink blossoms--no it has nothing to do with the tears threatening to leave his eye sockets again, “and ain’t that the worst fucking joke.” 

Akaashi doesn’t say sorry. He simply responds with silent tears. Koutarou pretends he doesn’t see. And it hurts, just a little. 

Koutarou folds his graduation certificate into a paper airplane, and chucks it away. He has been waiting the entire day for this moment to happen. 

“Bokuto-san…” Akaashi’s voice sounds weary and concerned. 

“It’s a piece of paper, at the end of the day.” Koutarou’s gaze follows as the wind carries it further and further. It dips in its flight course maybe once or twice, but manages to keep flying far enough to the point where Koutarou can no longer see it. 

They stay like that for a while. Koutarou trying not to cry again, and Akaashi trying to stop crying. Both are failing miserably. 

Fuck, Koutarou thinks, this is sad. 

“Let’s go home,” at one point, Koutarou decides, when the sun is leaning west, “’m hungry.”

He stands up, pats his ass and flings his backpack over on his forehead like a heartless jerk. Akaashi follows silently. Neither of them says another word. 

So, that’s how on that brilliant day in April when Koutarou graduates from Fukurodani, his path and Akaashi’s start diverging. However, at the time, Koutarou innocently hangs on to the belief that it won’t last forever.  
  


**Summer, 2012**

Koutarou gets the MSBY Black Jackals offer pretty easily, which is a pleasant surprise. Coach Foster did mention that he has kept a constant eye on him throughout high school, and as long as Koutarou makes sure he keeps up with the training, he will consider making him a regular on the team in about a year’s time if he’s ready. Apparently, one of the current outside hitters is about to retire. 

Official training for the upcoming season starts in July, so Koutarou spends the three free months signing papers with MSBY, hanging out with Akaashi, going to the gym to keep in shape, taking on a part time job at a restaurant, begging to hang out with Akaashi and him saying no because of cram school, packing, hanging out with Akaashi Kuroo and Kenma, packing some more, having a breakdown two weeks before the move, and pestering Akaashi long enough that the high school third-year just gives in and skips cram school to cuddle with Koutarou. 

Now, friends can cuddle. Koutarou firmly believes in this. There are multiple ways of expressing affection towards your best friend and cuddling is definitely one of them. Koutarou would absolutely cuddle Kuroo, that big smirking feline, and maybe even Tsukki if he doesn’t get kicked in the face. Allowed. Safely in the friendzone. A hundred percent. Yes. 

However, cuddling said best friend when he is asleep but you have a boner between your thighs is a different issue. Koutarou’s body seems to be confused by the current situation. Why can’t I act on this human I basically _own_ ? I’ve done it couple of hundred times (well, they obviously didn’t have sex _that_ many times but it’s probably close, if you count in all the dry humping of two hot-headed teenagers during volleyball training camp) so why can’t I do it now? 

And Koutarou would have to kindly explain to his dick why they don’t really “own” anyone, and even if Akaashi’s body and soul belonged to him, no, he no longer wants that. And they will have to respect that. 

The boner never goes away. 

So Koutarou takes one small step across the friendzone border in order to avoid taking a huge leap by “acting on” Akaashi. He jerks off, in the bathroom, when his best friend sleeps less than fifteen feet away. He lets his imagination wonder a little bit, before guilt finds its way back to him. So Koutarou shakes his head and thinks of moving to Osaka in three days. And that takes any remaining ounce of dirty ideas right out of his mind. 

He does have a nightmare that night about the Osaka streets turning into an alien octopus carrying eight laser guns shooting at him though. 

* * *

Koutarou’s family is driving him down to Osaka on a Saturday morning, and since Akaashi doesn’t have cram school on that particular Friday because of a teacher taken out by flu--fate, Koutarou calls it--he comes over so the two can spend their last night together. Some sad romance shit right out of J-drama. 

In Koutarou’s defense, the night starts out perfectly “innocent” (a word he finds himself using more and more around Akaashi). Akaashi talks about his university plans, Koutarou offers ice cream, Akaashi complains about the hot weather, Koutarou freaks out a little bit about tomorrow, Akaashi calms him down, Koutarou requests for a cuddle and a movie, Akaashi sighs and goes along, Koutarou claims the bigger spoon. 

They are two thirds into the movie when Akaashi starts crying. 

And that’s when the shit hit the fucking fan. Because the movie is nowhere near sad or scary. It’s a bad rom com for fuck’s sake. 

Koutarou freezes, taken over by wartime flashbacks of graduation day. He never really knows what to do when Akaashi cries--unless it’s about volleyball, because Koutarou is a _pro_ at that. So he just hugs him in closer, burying his face in the nape of Akaashi’s neck. 

As close friends do. 

But Koutarou’s dick decided otherwise. It decided that Akaashi’s little whimpers when crying are so hot that it must “act on” it. Yeah, he’s been too sex starved these days. 

So there they are, Koutarou swallowing his nerves away, his erection pressing directly onto Akaashi’s now-stiffened back. 

“Bokuto-san, is that-”

“No.”

He denies it. Of course he does. What else should he have said? Yes, it’s my boner which has been popping up in the past few times we cuddled but I was too scared to say anything because we’re on a break and we’re just friends and I really cannot risk losing you in another way so please stay don’t be mad don’t be disgusted it’s just my body responding to you hey have I told you you’re cute can we restart dating please oh pretty please? 

So, he denies it. As any normal human being will do. 

Akaashi turns around. 

Oh fuck fuck fuck fucking _shit_. 

Akaashi’s cheeks are wet with tears, his eyes half-lidded and his lips slightly parted. 

No. No. Koutarou refuses. No. He tries tearing his eyes away from Akaashi, but fails. 

Then Akaashi licks his fucking lower lip. 

“Say, Akaashi,” Koutarou’s voice cracks unattractively, “you’re not paying attention to the movie.”

“I know.”

They kiss. 

As close friends… sometimes… do? 

And Akaashi’s tongue slips in Koutarou’s mouth. 

As close friends… don’t really… do… 

And Akaashi shoves his hand down Koutarou’s pants and starts stroking his boner. 

As close friends definitely do. _Not_. Do. 

Ah fuck it. 

Koutarou kisses Akaashi as if the world is going to end. And it probably will, when he waves his goodbye tomorrow. He bites down on Akaashi’s lips as if they won’t ever see each other again. And they probably won’t, not until much much later. His hands creep under Akaashi’s shirt and urge a moan out of that pretty mouth of his by flicking his nipples just the slightest, as if he just realizes how much he’s in love with his ex-boyfriend/best friend. And he probably _is_ dumb enough to have this epiphany the night before he leaves. 

Before Koutarou strips Akaashi’s underwear away, he pauses, and asks with uneven breathing, “what do I do, Keiji?”

Akaashi shudders when his given name is called. 

“What do you mean what do you do, Bokuto-san? I thought you wouldn’t forget-”

“I know how to fuck you, damn it,” Koutarou curses, his dick pressing right between Akaashi’s tender thighs, “you said that we’re on a break.”

“So?” Akaashi breathes, and Koutarou hears him swallowing hard, “it’s also your last night with me.”

“Don’t say that as if I’m gonna fucking die, Keiji,” Koutarou says, annoyed now. 

“Koutarou,” Akaashi flips himself around underneath Koutarou, his legs wrapping around Koutaro’s waist as he stares straight into Koutarou’s eyes, “Please fuck me and make me remember how you feel when you’re with me so that I don’t lose my mind when I miss you.”

Koutarou is now the one whimpering. From being sad or aroused, he can’t tell. 

He fucks Akaashi really slowly that night, because he is depressed and desperate. Koutarou feels like if he drags it (the sex? the night? being with Akaashi? he’s not sure) out long enough, it wouldn’t end. And Akaashi doesn’t tell him to be faster or harder. Instead, he showers Koutarou with little kisses, on his lips, on his hair, his neck, chest, arms, everywhere. Akaashi’s tears get smeared with Koutarou’s, and they hold each other as if they’re trying to melt into themselves. That would be nice, Koutarou thinks, barely forming a coherent thought, to have Akaashi forever attached to him. 

In the haze of their afterglow, Koutarou remembers the first time they fucked. It was like this, slow and agonizing, but a whole lot less depressed. Koutarou was so scared, he kept thinking that Akaashi would stop him midway and run away screaming. But Akaashi never did. He stayed and stayed, through their horrible virgin sex (they learned lube is an essential during gay sex!), through the countless volleyball games, through the random shit Koutarou gets himself in (such as pressing that fire alarm at school that _one_ time), and would you look at that, two years have gone by. 

Maybe it’s the post nut clarity, but Koutarou ponders with Akaashi’s head pressed against his chest, how it is that he is the one leaving when all along, he was the one clinging onto Akaashi with all his force. 

* * *

“Promise to text a lot-” 

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

“And to send a lot of pictures-”

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

“Oh don’t forget to train Onaga and Anahori into shape, they need more receive practice-”

“Yes, Bokuto-san.”

“Come now, Koutarou, say goodbye to Keiji,” his mom calls to him, their car engine already started, rumbling in the background. 

“Good luck on the university entrance exam, even though it’s still… very early-”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san.”

“And, take care, Akaashi.”

A delay. 

“I will, Koutarou.” The answer is soft and light. 

“I-” Koutarou opens his mouth, but his throat tightens so much that no words come out. He wants to say more. He has so much more he needs to say, needs to tell Akaashi because it’s now or never. The words are all on the tip of his tongue. 

I’m sorry and I love you and I don’t think I ever will stop doing so and I am so sorry I’m leaving please forgive me I will come back soon and I. Love. You. 

But he can’t. Tears choke up the back of his throat. It hurts. 

“Koutarouuu--” his mom calls again. 

In desperation, he fumbles and finds Akaashi’s hands. He squeezes them as hard as he can. His eyes search Akaashi’s. Tell me you understand? 

“I know, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi gives him the prettiest grin he has ever seen. His eyes were glimmering a little. 

“I understand.”  
  


**Fall, 2012**

They lose to the Japan Railway Warriors. After five full sets and a deuce raked all the way up to the 20’s in the last one. 

It’s Koutarou’s first game with the Black Jackals and it’s been less than two months since he joined them in Osaka and started training together. One of their usual outside hitters had a family emergency so Koutarou was swapped in. He was nervous, but he didn’t let the nerves quite get to him. Before the game, he listened to music the way Akaashi recommended and even meditated a little. He set his own mood during the game, and he hit the ball again and again and again, until it went through. He, for once, didn’t enter his emo mode--he can no longer afford doing that without Akaashi and the rest of the Fukurodani team around--and neither did he get over-excited over hitting straights. Koutarou felt good. 

But somehow the Warriors managed to match up point by point and ended the match with a shut-out.

Coach Foster says he is glad to see Koutarou having the potential to be one of the best weapons of their arsenal, now he just needs to get used to the rest of the team. Captain Meian tells him to shake it off, it’s common for a team to struggle a bit with a new player. The rest of the team pat his shoulders and tell him “don’t mind”.

For Koutarou, none of that sounded like reassurance. For him, they were another form of criticism. He is not being good enough, compatible enough, adaptable enough. He was going to drown in complete desperation if it wasn’t for Inunaki’s save. 

Shion Inunaki, the libero two years older than him, his current roommate at their dorm, is the only one willing to point out he did well enough. They are in the living room, Koutarou bunched up in a sad little (big) ball on a sofa, and Inunaki is playing Mario Kart. 

“What about the rest?” Koutarou mumbles. 

“The rest?” the silver haired boy pauses, thinks, then continues, “keep training. The entire team is rusty from the break of the last off-season--it lasted way too long. We all need to get better.”

Inunaki reminds Koutarou of Akaashi a little bit. The way he can break something so complicated into blatantly obvious facts that at the end, you are only thinking, “oh, it's that easy all along”. 

Koutarou thanks Inunaki, and gets a half-hearted nod. He heads back into his room, and the moment the door closes, he digs out his phone to call Akaashi. 

There is a little balcony outside of his room and it has been Koutarou’s comfort zone. He has decorated it with a bunch of plants friends--and no, contrary to common belief, Koutarou is actually very good at keeping plants alive--and spends an absurd amount of time there whenever he misses home, Fukurodani, Akaashi, Kuroo, his crow friends from Karasuno or all of them at once. 

He opens up the glass doors and leans on the railings. The winds are getting a little chillier. 

“The number you have dialed is not available, please try again later.”

Koutarou hangs up, and looks at his phone screen. 

12:08 a.m. Thursday. October 4th, 2012. 

Of course Akaashi wouldn’t be awake. Koutarou decides against sending a text because Akaashi is in the homestretch of his college entrance exam prep and the last thing he needs is Koutarou’s interference. This was why he suggested a break in the first place, wasn’t it? 

He watches as the phone screen fades to black. He presses the home button. It lights up again. 

The background is a cheesy selfie with Akaashi that he took early this year during the winter school festival at Fukurodani. The volleyball team hosted a cafe. It was… interesting, to say the least, seeing two meters tall volleyball players trying to carry delicate cups and dishes to their customers. In the picture, Koutarou’s face is grinning up close, and it almost takes up half of the screen. Akaashi is in the back, just about to take orders from a customer when Koutarou called him to look up. There was a content look in his eyes, and a little bit of surprise. 

They both thought it was the best picture they’ve taken. Koutarou said it was because of how casually stunning Akaashi looks, and Akaashi said it was because of how annoyingly handsome Koutarou’s cheesy smile is (Koutarou intentionally ignored the backhanded compliment). 

Koutarou keeps staring at his selfie with Akaashi, and he slides down to sit between his plants friends. Koko the cactus stabs him in the thigh. Koutarou carefully moves it away. 

“Akaashi…” Koutarou taps the phone to his forehead as it fades to black again, “Akaashi… Akaashi… Akaashi...” 

Nowadays he repeats the name just so he can feel closer to one he’s calling to. 

His voice trails off and gets mixed into the murmurings of the autumn wind. Maybe the wind will take it all the way to Tokyo for him. 

It’s going to be a long, long winter.  
  


**Winter, 2012**

Koutarou can feel his heart thumping so hard that his chest is practically vibrating underneath his thick winter jacket. He shuffles on his feet and checks the time again on his phone. 1:58 p.m. 

Two more minutes. 

He leans his head back on the train station pillar and huffs out a white cloud of breath. 

Today, Koutarou will be seeing Akaashi for the first time since last July. Well, they have facetimed multiple (“multiple” is 18, and yes of course he counted) times throughout the past 7 months, but their schedules never seemed to line up long enough to hang out in person. Now, in mid January, Akaashi is finally done with his college entrance exam and Koutarou is back in Tokyo the moment the two lovely weeks of off-season break time started. 

But--he glances at his phone again--one minute before the meet-up time with Akaashi, Koutarou’s animalistic instinct is telling him to run away when he still can. 

For one, Koutarou is so nervous that he is sure he will puke all of his lunch up the moment he sees Akaashi. 

Ever since the start of their break, Koutarou has been treading ever so carefully around their relationship. He is scared, to put it plainly, of breaking whatever fragile little strings left that tie them together. Koutarou is usually confident in his friendship with those around him, but _this_ with Akaashi has been different. How exactly, he can’t quite put his finger on it. 

Secondly, Koutarou has been incredibly lonely (read: horny). 

There are about thirteen active players on the Black Jackals, and he has only been getting along with Inunaki. Meian is their captain and is half a decade older than him, trying to hang out with him would be like a three months old puppy trying to play with a yawning senior dog. The man has a fiance, for fuck’s sake. A fiance! Koutarou can’t even wrap his poor little eighteen year old brain around renting an apartment on his own, let alone getting into marriage. Koutarou is not _that_ desperate to make friends yet. 

Oliver Barnes and Adriah Thomas, the two friendly opposite hitters in their early twenties, would have been Koutarou’s best bet for new friends, if it wasn’t for the mountain of the language barrier between them. Sure, Koutarou only failed English once in high school, but that doesn’t mean the standard English textbooks written by Japanese folks prepared him to be anywhere near fluent in English. So Koutarou is content, as long as he can communicate in a volleyball way with the two foreign teammates. 

Loneliness itself isn’t that big of a deal. In elementary school and junior high, Koutarou has led the lifestyle of quite the lone-wolf. It’s not something he likes to think about, but he knows the ways to combat that feeling of helplessly drowning when no one’s around. 

The problem is, in short, Koutarou’s inability to keep it in his pants whenever he does something as remote as just thinking of Akaashi. 

The whole crossing-friend-zone-through-masturbation-to-your-hot-best-friend situation has only been worsening. And it’s not like the unfamiliar city and the piling of sexual frustration helps, either. Koutarou has been abstinent for way too long. 

So, he wants to run away when he still can before he pukes all over Akaashi the moment he shows up and then starts rutting against his thighs. 

Koutarou checks the last messages sent between them two. 

akaashi i’m here :) waiting by the pillars at the exit

(read 1:46 p.m.)

I’m three stops away. 

(1:50 p.m.) 

oooh great!!!! cant wait to see u!(๑￫ܫ￩)

(delivered 1:52 p.m.)

He looks at the time in the corner of his phone. 

2:03 p.m. 

That’s it. Koutarou pushes himself off the pillar, hands clammy and stomach churning. That’s it. Akaashi got cold feet. Akaashi no longer wants to see him. Akaashi has some urgent family problems. Akaashi is going to leave. Akaashi is going to leave and there’s nothing Koutarou can do about it and next time their schedules line up (and that’s only the case if Akaashi is even willing to come see him) will be in another half a year and--

“Bokuto-san.”

Koutarou whips around to find the source of that voice so reassuring and familiar that he can still tell apart from the rest of the world even if he was deaf. 

Akaashi stands-- _so gorgeous_ \--two feet-- _too far_ \--away, wearing his Fukurodani windbreaker-- _breath-fucking-taking to say the least_ \--and grinning-- _oh sweet lord_. Koutarou feels like his brain short circuits. 

How the fuck can someone look so effortlessly stunning with such a casual little grin??? It’s not fair. 

“Bokuto-san? Earth to Bokuto?” Akaashi waves his fingers in front of Koutarou’s face. 

“Akaashi, hi,” everything--the longing, the doubts and even the pent-up sexual frustrations--falls away the instant Koutarou wraps his hands around Akaashi’s. He looks at his best friend with an uncontrollably dumb smile. And Akaashi returns it. 

Koutarou realizes he never wants to let go. 

* * *

They spend the afternoon just talking and the evening laughing over dinner. The initial shock and unease of seeing his best friend after _way too long_ disappeared in a snap when Koutarou starts rambling about volleyball, because, of _course_. 

Before the dinner, Koutarou was scared that his nerves would get to him and he would be literally unable to shut up and talk the night away with Akaashi only nodding along. He has so much to share, but he doesn’t want to be a jerk. And above that, he wants to listen to Akaashi talk about his past seven months when he was absent. Thankfully, Akaashi seems as talkative as Koutarou, which blows his mind a little. The high school third-year seems to have finally gathered enough topics during the seven months to do so. 

They rant to each other (Akaashi about his college choices and Koutarou about Inunaki’s living habits that are driving him insane), laugh at the old days (Koutarou asks a _lot_ about his kouhai’s--he misses them all so terribly and Akaashi answers each question dutifully), and during comfortable gaps of silence, peek at each other. 

Koutarou tries so very hard to memorize and categorize everything he sees Akaashi does. Akaashi chews his food, cheeks round like a chipmunk. Akaashi holds up a cup to drink water, his long fingers well-manicured and well cared for. Akaashi laughs at a joke, his nose wrinkling up just the slightest and his shoulders relaxing. Akaashi looks out the window, his dark green eyes deep and thoughtful, under long, thick lashes. Akaashi looks back at him, the slightest tint of blush creeping up his neck and ears. 

“Come back to my house with me,” Koutarou blurts, out of nowhere. 

Akaashi all but stares at him. He seems like he’s unsure how to respond. 

“Come back to my house with me,” Koutarou repeats himself, and adds, “I don’t want the night to end yet.”

Akaashi looks at him wearily. He blinks slowly as his body unconsciously leans back. 

No, quick, Koutarou, _think_ ! And _speak_! 

“Nonono, I won’t… try to do anything,” Koutarou explains quickly, feeling his cheeks burning up, “if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not really… worried about anything,” Akaashi turns his head to look outside again. Koutarou notices the tips of his ears are getting red again. “I know you won’t do anything to me that I don’t want. I’m just...”

His voice trails off. 

“You’re just…?” Koutarou prompts. 

Akaashi clears his throat and sits up straight. Then he turns his gaze back to Koutarou with a determined look on his face. 

Uh oh. Koutarou’s heart clenches. He’s going to say no, isn’t he. 

“Let’s go back to your house, Bokuto-san.”

Little angels are probably smiling down on Koutaro’s right now because somehow he feels a halo forming around him. 

* * *

At the Bokuto household, Koutarou’s parents welcome Akaashi with grinning faces and curious inquiries about his college entrance exam. Koutarou looks at Akaashi with fascination as the younger boy answers each question shyly. Those green eyes look a little softer than usual, and he leans his head slightly forward in a courteous manner. 

Koutarou hasn’t seen Akaashi acting like this in a long time. Ever since they met during the first volleyball club meeting of his second year, Koutarou and Akaashi have always been so… in sync, that they rarely try to act courteous around each other. Sure, Akaashi calls Koutarou “Bokuto-san” with the honorifics, but Koutarou likes to selfishly think that it’s the closest thing to a nickname that Akaashi can come up with. 

Koutarou watches closely to how Akaashi reacts to his parents’ questions. He knows how his best friend can easily get overwhelmed in a one-way conversation like this, overthinking every little thing the other person asks. That’s why Koutarou gradually got used to talking about himself in front of Akaashi over the past two years--it simply brings less anxiety for him. 

The moment Koutarou spots Akaashi’s brows furrowing (his mom is asking about his future plans to make a living out of a Literature major), he announces that he only brings Akaashi home so he can spend time with him and he doesn’t intend on sharing the black-haired boy with anyone else. Koutarou’s mom chides lovingly at her son’s selfishness, and lets the two boys go. 

When they finally settle in Koutarou’s room upstairs, Koutarou is struck with a sudden wave of reminiscence. Watching Akaashi find his way onto the right side of the bed (which has always been Akaashi’s preferred side), it feels like they’re back in high school again. Back then, they were still fresh into the dating scene, and would spend as much time as they could with each other just so they could both escape the real world for a little while. 

They were like the two lost pieces of a full puzzle before they met each other. Koutarou was always lonely because no one could keep up with him, and Akaashi was always anxious because no one took the time to listen to him. But from the moment Koutarou sheepishly asked Akaashi to give him more tosses when hiding under that tiny desk, and the moment Akaashi said yes, their worlds collided and melted into one in an instant. _They_ were all they had and it was enough. 

Now, superimposed onto their high school selves, Koutarou suddenly feels lost. He doesn’t know what to do with all the things he gradually came to know about Akaashi. He memorized Akaashi’s favorite ice cream brand and flavor, how long it took Akaashi to brush his teeth, where Akaashi liked to be kissed, and all the fears and insecurities Akaashi spilled to him when they were basked in moonlight in the dead of night. Fuck, how is he supposed to forget any of that? He doesn’t want to forget either, but if that’s what Akaashi wants, he will do it, as painful as that is for himself. 

As long as Akaashi is happy, then so am I. It’s simple logic, really. 

But Koutarou finds it especially difficult when he’s face to face with Akaashi. Something in Akaashi’s posture, words and action tells Koutarou that the younger boy still wants him as much as Koutarou wants him. And it maddens him, because how can Akaashi say he wants a break when they are still probably in love? But it also terrifies him, because Koutarou doesn’t want anything to do with hurting Akaashi, even if he can’t always understand Akaashi’s reasonings. 

So instead, Koutarou shuts his mind off and ignores the overpowering magnetic force radiating from Akaashi, threatening to pull him in _too_ close. 

And Akaashi must have felt it too, because those molten green eyes watch Koutarou with a bare look of desire. And at the same time, guilt. He shifts in Koutarou’s bed, and climbs to the left side, which is closer to the owner of the bed, now standing at a safe distance away. Which is in the middle of the room. 

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, kneeling in front of the now panicking Koutarou, “for getting me out of that round of rapid questions.”

“Ah it’s nothing,” Koutarou scratches the back of his head, “I know you would get overwhelmed… I hope you didn’t though?”

“I didn’t,” Akaashi smiles, Koutarou really wants to just _hug_ him, “thanks to you.”

Akaashi stares at Koutarou intensely, the latter turns his head to look at anything but the pretty green-eyed boy. 

His hands are then picked up by Akaashi. Warmth seeps through the interlocked hands, and it heats Koutarou up in all the ways possible. His face is practically on fire, his belly begins churning, and his dick twitches in agreement. 

Oh this is so bad. This is just like the night before he left Tokyo. Koutarou hates it. He wants to withdraw his hands from Akaashi to stop himself from doing anything ridiculous, but Akaashi is the one who does something ridiculous first. 

He kisses Koutarou. 

On his hands. 

Koutarou blinks. He stares at the spot where the kiss just landed. It is on the knuckle of his right middle finger. He swallows. 

Then Akaashi does it again on his right pointing finger. And again on the back of his left hand. And again on his left thumb. 

Koutarou’s throat hurts a little. 

“Keiji,” a sigh escapes him, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

That doesn’t stop Akaashi though. He doesn’t seem to have faltered one bit. He continues to outline the shape of Koutarou’s hands with his lips. 

Koutarou should stop Akaashi, and remind him of what they are. Just friends. And friends don’t share moments this intimate. Above all, Akaashi is the one who suggested being just friends. But Koutarou fears that it would be too cruel to point it out. Instead, he broods in guilt and agonizing longing as he watches his best friend practically worship his fingers. 

At one point, Akaashi licks the tip of Koutarou’s right thumb. It sends electricity flying across Koutarou’s right arm, then straight down his spine to his dick. His dick which is now hard, trapped in his overly tight pants. 

“Keiji, please,” Koutarou chokes on his words. He doesn’t know if he wants Akaashi to stop or continue. 

Akaashi clearly interprets it as the latter, and envelopes his lips around Koutarou’s right thumb. He looks up at Koutarou with half lidded eyes, tears barely defying gravity. 

Koutarou should’ve done a lot of things at that point. He should’ve told Akaashi no, should’ve gently pushed him away, should’ve kept trying to be “just friends”, should’ve ignored his whining dick, and should’ve had the courage to ask Akaashi to explain his actions. Because Koutarou is getting confused. 

But instead, he lets Akaashi have his way with him, because Koutarou thinks it’s his way to say sorry for leaving Akaashi that summer day. Because Koutarou is willing to do whatever Akaashi wants him to do. Because Koutarou is still so in love with this boy that it doesn’t matter if he himself is hurt. Because as long as Akaashi is happy, then so am I, right? 

No. As Akaashi sucks Koutarou off, knees on the bed and hands shoved down his own pants, they both cry in silence. 

A sob finally makes its way out of Koutarou when his body uncontrollably shakes and he spurts into Akaashi’s mouth. The black haired boy whimpers, as he catches his own cum in his hands. 

Akaashi says he won’t stay the night. Koutarou nods, not surprised. Neither of them says another word when they clean up together. 

Koutarou wants to ask if this means they cross the friend zone borders again, if Akaashi wants him romantically again and if they can go back to dating again. But he doesn’t. Because Akaashi doesn’t. 

They descend the stairs in darkness and silence. Both of Koutarou’s parents have gone to bed. They stand beside the door, and stay like that for a while. 

Akaashi leans in. His head rests on Koutarou’s shaking shoulders. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. 

Koutarou tilts his head back, forcing the tears to go back. But they slide down the side of his face instead. 

Akaashi leaves. And Koutarou sleeps on the floor by the genkan that night.  
  


**Spring, 2013**

Koutarou is not someone to miss phone calls from his friends. Especially not those from his best friend, who is graduating on that particular day, also who he promised to call. But he does, nonetheless, because Coach Foster is still not satisfied with his cross shots even when the sun is setting west. 

When Koutarou finally gets the time to check his phone, he is alone in the locker room, fresh out of a shower. He waits until everyone else on the team has left, and immediately claws his phone out of his gym bag. 

Three missed calls from Akaashi in the span of two hours. Koutarou kicks himself for not perfecting his cross shots sooner. 

Rrrrring. 

Koutarou holds his breath. 

Rrrring. 

Please pick up please pick up _please pick up_. 

Rrrring. 

Koutarou is about to give up. 

A click sound and then, “Hello?”

“Akaashi!” Koutarou stands up from his seat with an audible “whoosh”. Then sits his ass down because that was stupid. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to say. 

The other side of the line stays silent too. It’s deafening. All Koutarou can hear is the drip-drip-drip of water from the showers and the low humming of the fan. He starts bouncing his right leg up and down, struggling to form a full sentence. He doesn’t know if he should apologize first, or ask Akaashi about the graduation ceremony first. Koutarou has a _lot_ to say. 

After what feels like an hour (it was actually only three seconds), Koutarou blurts, “Congrats, Akaashi.”

The two stay silent for a few seconds. Then they burst out into laughter. 

Koutarou is amazed at how they manage to break out in this hysterical laugh together hundreds of kilometers apart. He cackles without a care in the world, and listens to Akaashi’s somewhat more restrained giggle. 

Oh god. That sound. Koutarou would give a limb to see Akaashi’s face right now. It’s rare enough to see Akaashi’s grin, let alone _giggle_. Koutarou pities himself, just a little bit though. 

“Say, ’kaashi,” Koutarou wipes at the tears at the corner of his eyes--they’re from laughing too hard and honestly he hasn’t experienced this in a while, “how does it feel, being done with high school?”

“Hmm,” Akaashi sounds like he’s still smiling, “strange.”

They start laughing again. At absolutely nothing. 

“Akaashi Keiji,” Koutarou feigns a serious and grave tone, “kiss goodbye to your innocent years and welcome to the hell of adults.”

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi giggles-- _again_ , “you’re gonna give me nightmares for sure.”

“Well,” Koutarou lines his feet up and sways them side to side, “I did have one about the Osaka streets eating me alive.”

“Bokuto-san, you did what?” Akaashi gasps--Koutarou hasn't told him, yet. So he smiles to himself, gladly explaining that dream a year ago in vivid details and imagery. Akaashi hums in response and chuckles occasionally. 

Koutarou misses this a little. He sometimes forgets even if they’re just best friends, they can have the time of their life together, talking about the most random things. 

Yes, Koutarou does remember the January incident. And so does Akaashi. But eventually the two of them made up when they hung out again before Koutarou left for Osaka, and they agreed to stay safely behind the friend zone borders. Akaashi said it would be easier to be just friends with the distance. Plus, college is starting for Akaashi, and Koutarou needs to start proving himself useful to Coach Foster. So, here they are, back to the ways they were, just best friends. 

And Koutarou is content. 

When he finally finishes recounting his nightmare, Koutarou leans back against the lockers and sighs. He doesn’t mean to make it sound so miserable, but Akaashi picks it up. 

“Bokuto-san?” he asks carefully, “are you okay?”

“Ah, ’m fine,” Koutarou waves his hand dismissively as if Akaashi can see it, “just a little stressed these days.”

“How so?”

Koutarou realizes this is one of the first times anyone has asked him this question since they resumed practice two months ago. His mouth feels dry. 

“Well,” Koutarou shrugs, “y’know how I was made regular on the team?” He waits for Akaashi’s hum of recognition, and continues when he gets it, “I’ve been trying to prove to Coach that I can keep doing what I’m doing.”

“Isn’t that a given?” Koutarou can hear Akaashi’s frown in his voice. 

“No,” Koutarou sighs, yet again, running his fingers through his damp hair, “tryouts are happening soon, so we might see even more of our Monster Generation joining. I just hope I won’t get lost in the sea of talent.”

“Bokuto-san, how unlike of you to say something like this,” Akaashi’s voice is soothing, “you said Coach Foster has kept an eye on you throughout high school, right? There must be a reason that he did that. He saw _something_ in you, Bokuto-san.”

Akaashi is once again, just stating obvious facts. And it instantly takes away the weights on Koutarou’s shoulders. Koutarou hums. 

“Plus, you have been training with the Black Jackals for almost an entire year now,” it’s as if Akaashi _knows_ that Koutarou is still not convinced, so he adds, “haven’t you improved a lot since your high school years? That alone puts you in a different position than those rookies from high school.”

It’s true. Koutarou has, just as Coach Foster anticipated, become one of the greatest weapons of the Black Jackals. Within the past nine months, Koutarou manages to familiarize himself with the playing style of each and every player on the team, from the setter to the libero, even those of the backup players. He successfully blends in with the rest of the team, but also isn’t just invisible. His presence is always felt on court. 

Koutarou nods, and whispers into the phone, “thank you, Akaashi. You always make me feel a lot better.”

“Of course, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi responds. Then there is a pause almost unnoticeable, before he adds, “I know you well.”

Koutarou can’t help but smile at that confident statement, “Hey hey hey aren’t you getting cocky? But I guess with your list of Bokuto’s Forty Weaknesses, you _are_ on another level.” 

“You flatter me, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sounds like he’s holding back another giggle. 

Koutarou can’t begin to describe how happy he is, just hearing Akaashi happy. 

“This is nice, Akaashi,” Koutarou slouches on the bench, “just us… talking.”

“Yes, Bokuto-san, it is.”

Koutarou smiles. The silence on the other end of the line suddenly doesn’t feel so deafening anymore. 

“Say, Akaashi,” Koutarou says in the spur of the moment, plus he really wants to know, “have the cherry blossoms bloomed yet in Tokyo?”

“They… have, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says, his voice quivering, “it’s beautiful. Just like last year.”

“Just like last year, huh?” Koutarou tries fighting back the sudden urge to cry. He remembers that pink shower of petals and that figure by his side.

A moment of silence. 

“I’m sitting under _the_ tree right now, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi hesitantly adds. 

Koutarou instantly knows which tree he’s talking about. _The_ tree. 

“Hah?” Koutarou lifts his phone from his ear, glances at the time, and puts it back, “it’s almost 7! What are you still doing at school?”

Another silence. 

“I’ve been waiting for you to call back, Bokuto-san. I’ve been wanting to do something.”

“Do… what?” Koutarou asks. 

Before Koutarou can finish his sentence, he hears a noise indicating that the phone is put on the ground, and a rustling sound of papers. Koutarou can hear wind whooshing in the receiver of his phone. 

A moment later, the phone is picked up and a smug Akaashi--a _smug_ Akaashi?--says, “I did it.”

“Did… what?” Koutarou is a little weary. 

“I folded my certificate into a paper airplane,” wait wait wait wait _what_ , “and it’s now… gone. I can’t see it anymore.”

“Akaashi?!” Why would this _dumbass_ do this? Doesn’t he need it for college or something? “Why would you even-?”

“As you once said, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi responds, “‘it’s just a piece of paper’. It’s not fair that you’re always the cool one.”

Koutarou finds himself unable to respond. He is literally speechless. His mouth hangs half open and his body frozen. 

“I… might be a little selfish, Bokuto-san,” a bitter smile can be heard in Akaashi’s low quality voice through the phone call, “I want you to be here too when I do this, because I wouldn’t have the courage to do it on my own.”

Koutarou shoots up from the bench. He wants to… do something. He wants to see Akaashi’s face, or touch his hands, because for some reason Akaashi’s hands always calm him down. But he only paces in the locker room. 

“Akaashi,” Koutarou breathes into the microphone, “you know you’re a big dummy.”

“I know.” Akaashi sounds almost proud.  
  


**Summer, 2013**

“Rio! Has a lot of great things!”

Koutarou thinks and then decides it’s a good idea to yell it right into Inunaki’s right ear. The latter flinches and tries backing away, but Koutarou’s arms lock firmly around his shoulders. So the silver haired man stands there, and lets Koutarou hang onto him like a koala. 

“And!” Koutarou continues to yell a little too close to the shorter man, his body moving to the rhythm of the rumbling bass in the crowded dance floor, “clubs are one of them!”

“Bokuto, how many shots have you taken?” Inunaki frowns. Disco lights cascading neon colors on his delicate features. 

Koutarou thinks hard. He remembers getting a bottle of Brahma--a famous brand of Brazillian beer--when they first arrived at the sponsor’s club, and finishing that up pretty fast. Which in hindsight might have started the slippery slope of vodka shots and Caipirinhas. He really tries to think and count, and he _can_ count up to the shot he took with Barnes and that was his sixth and it’s been forty minutes. After that, his memories all sort of blend together. Koutarou feels his brain doing flips on itself. 

“Bah, I don’t remember!” Koutarou waves a hand and keeps leaning on Inunaki, “does it matter that much?”

Inunaki looks at him up and down, an eyebrow raises, which says “are you being serious”. 

Koutarou rolls his eyes. God Inunaki is such a mom. “Sure, maybe I didn’t pace myself. And maybe--just maaaaaaaaybe--I’m drunk. But for fuck’s sake, Inunaki-san, brighten up a little bit! We’re in fucking Rio for the fucking Olympics! How fucking cool is that!” 

“If you say ‘fucking’ one more time, Bokuto,” Inunaki shoots him a warning look. 

“Ah got it got it!” Koutarou stands up straight on his own feet, and pulls back. Partypooper. Bluergh. 

“Bokuto! Hey!” Inunaki’s voice comes from behind him somewhere in the crowd, “where are you going?”

Koutarou only waves a hand, and stumbles through the crowd. 

He manages to find the bathroom and after tripping over his own feet (fucking dress shoes with their ridiculously high heels), he walks in. There are four other men in there, probably all athletes. Two are talking by the sink, and two others at the urinals. Koutarou clears his throat--somehow he thinks that it can clear his head a little too--and locates a urinal and aims as best as he can. He tries not to embarrass himself and he is mostly successful. He only stumbles a little when turning around. But he gets a hold of one of the sinks in time, and stops himself in his tracks of falling. 

Ok, maybe he’s a little bit, a tiiiiiiiiiny bit more than drunk. Just a little though. He can still function. 

Koutarou washes his hands. Somehow it’s the hardest task to do, trying to stand up straight, breathe in and out, keep his eyes open and scrub at his fingers with soap all at the same time. He can hear his own heart thumping on his eardrums. He splashes some cold water on his face for good measures. 

When he’s finally done with Mission Impossible: Washing Hands (how many movies are there in that franchise anyways?), Koutarou looks at himself in the mirror. It always feels weird looking at a reflection of yourself when you’re wasted, that much Koutarou can tell you. He examines his black and white hair, somehow still flawless--at least in his drunk point of view. He loosens the tie around his neck, then decides it’s a better look to take it off altogether, and shoves it in his pocket. He unbuttons the collar of his white dress shirt, and lets out a satisfied sigh. Less choking. More oxygen. Breathe better. Yes. 

Just as Koutarou straightens his back, he catches a glimpse of a stranger with a head of black hair too familiar to ignore in the mirror. The stranger walks up to the sink next to Koutarou’s, and starts washing his hands. 

Koutarou is shocked. Fascinated. _Beguiled_ (now that’s a word even Akaashi would be impressed by). The stranger’s hair looks too much like Akaashi’s, with little bits curling outward all around. But something is a little off. So, as any drunk person will do, Koutarou intends to get to the bottom of it by staring at that stranger until that stranger looks up back at him. 

Caught in action, Koutarou snaps out of his trance-like state. He quickly lowers his head, and turns on the faucet again, even though his hands are already clean. 

“Hey.”

Koutarou is startled. He looks to his side. The stranger looks back at him with unfocused hazel eyes--he clearly isn’t sober either. Now with a proper look, Koutarou realizes the stranger looks nothing like Akaashi. His nose is a lot more prominent and his eyes are hollowed inward. His facial structure is European. 

“...Hey?” Koutarou responds, a little unsure. The phrase “not wearing the pants” suddenly jumps into his head. 

“I’m Giovanni,” the stranger says, half leaning on the sink. 

In Japanese--Koutarou’s brain gently reminds himself. 

“You speak Japanese?” Koutarou blurts, instead of returning his own name. 

“I do,” the stran--Giovanni, smiles, his eyes wrinkling at the corner-- _wait_ why did Koutarou’s heart just miss a beat, “I am half Japanese half Italian.”

“Ah...” Koutarou nods, then asks, “and you play for…?”

Do the fucking math, Koutarou snaps at himself. What do you think? A mix of Japanese and Italian, you haven’t seen him on the Japanese national team, so where fucking else other than the country of love? 

“I actually play for Poland,” Giovanni responds as if he can read minds, “a lot of people assume either Japan or Italy. So I appreciate you for asking.”

Italy? Japan? _And_ Poland? One, two… three! _Three_ languages! Fuck, Koutarou feels stupid now.

“Ah you… you’re welcome,” Koutarou turns off the faucet after sticking his hands under water for absolutely no reason. He is trying to nod politely and go back to koala clinging to Inunaki for the rest of the night, before Giovanni speaks up again. 

“What’s your name?” A strange pink flush starts creeping up from Giovanni’s tight dress shirt collar.

Suddenly Koutarou feels too sober to be having a conversation like this right now. 

“Bokuto Koutarou,” he then adds, “I play for the Japan team.”

“Ah I see,” Giovanni nods. He wrings his hands. 

An awkward silence befalls them. 

“I am gonna go back--”

“I am gonna go back--”

They both start speaking the exact same sentence at the exact same time, and somehow that changes the entire atmosphere. Both double over themselves when laughing, and Koutarou thinks to himself, how strange of a person he meets. 

They make their way back to the bar, and everything just… unfolds. Koutarou offers to buy Giovanni a drink as an apology for staring at his hair earlier, Giovanni shakes his head and says it’s totally fine. Koutarou thanks him and accepts the suggestion of a shot together from Giovanni, Giovanni laughs at Koutarou’s dramatic reenactment of a ref’s strange hand signals during the game. Koutarou moons over the fact that Giovanni just turned eighteen and already plays for the Olympics--even though he is not a regular, and Giovanni admits to watching the Japan v. Egypt game and getting flustered when he saw Koutarou’s first service ace. Koutarou blushes like the pussy he is and Giovanni gets a hold of his hand and marvels at the callouses on them and Koutarou suddenly feels very, very hot and Giovanni seems very, very close and… well. One of them--Koutarou doesn’t know who--closes the distance between their shaking lips and seals the kiss. 

Everything is a blur afterwards. Koutarou foggly remembers grinding on Giovanni on the dance floor, making out some more with him, lacing his fingers into that head of black hair and thinking, ah, the difference is that Akaashi’s hair is much firmer. They stumble out of the club together (Koutarou thinks Inunaki shouted something at him when he was pushing through the dancefloor), both hammered beyond imagination. And that is the last memory Koutarou has before he blacks out. 

* * *

Koutarou wakes up the second morning, horrified with a gorgeous young man with foreign features in his hotel bed. Both of their clothes are intact, so Koutarou thanks every Japanese deity he can think of for not doing anything stupid. 

He winces as he turns on his phone to check the time--it’s already 2 in the afternoon. 

Then he sees the twelve missed calls and eighteen unread texts from Akaashi. 

Oh fuck. This can be potentially bad. Koutarou fumbles to unlock his phone, his joints hurting from the absurd amount of alcohol intake last night. He checks what outrageous message he sent to Akaashi that started this. He freezes when he sees it. 

ajawshi is kissing skmeone tht looks like u a bad tjing????

(read 4:39 a.m.)

Bokuto-san? Are you drunk? 

(4:40 a.m.)

Bokuto-san?? Tell me you’re at least safe. 

(4:40 a.m.)

Please pick up your phone, I am getting worried. 

(4:42 a.m.)

_*cut for length*_

I really hope you are okay, Bokuto-san, but I have to go to bed now. Please text back when you’re conscious again. 

(1:30 p.m.)

Ah fuck. This hits harder than the hangover.  
  


**Fall, 2013**

Koutarou sips on his cup of latte as he listens to Akaashi, the now glorious college first year Literature major student, ramble on about his Japanese Poetry class. The sensei’s grading is harsh, the workload is apparently “insane”, and something called Kanshi is giving him a hard time because it’s basically Chinese and that’s a whole other language! Koutarou does his best to at least try to understand, but his mind _is_ wondering a little. 

College really does a number on you, huh. 

“... and I am seriously thinking of switching departments at this point as hard as that can get,” Akaashi finally concludes, and pauses to take a sip from his drink. Strawberry soda. His favorite. Koutarou feels proud of himself for remembering this order and being such an amazing best friend--it almost doesn’t hurt to say it anymore. 

“Man, ’kaaaaashi,” Koutarou drags out the syllable and tilts his head at a ridiculous angle to brighten up the young man sitting across from him, “sounds like you’re miserable...”

“And exhausted.”

“...and drowned in so much work...”

“I am!”

“...and want to quit Literature all in all...”

“I d--” Akaashi pauses, and closes his mouth with an audible “pop”. 

Koutarou grins. Aaaaand there it is. He takes another sip of the latte, feeling pretty good about himself. 

Koutarou can be dumb sometimes, but he knows for a fact that Akaashi’s everlasting passion for Japanese Literature cannot be erased by a poetry class a little bit more difficult than average. He understands, because that’s how he feels about volleyball. 

“Well?”

“Well I,” Akaashi brows furrow, tilting his head back and his glasses--oh yeah he started wearing a pair of muted black rimmed glasses a few months ago--reflects the glares of the ceiling lightings in the small cafe in Shinjuku, “I don’t think I _really_ want to quit Literature.”

Koutarou hums knowingly, “Think of it as something you have to overcome to get to where you wanna be, eh?”

Akaashi looks at Koutarou and blinks. Koutarou wiggles his brows in the stupid way that always makes Akaashi chuckle. 

And he does. Akaashi’s eyes squint and the corners of his lips lifting. But that look quickly vanishes when he seems to be reminded of something even more concerning. His brows bunch up, _again_. 

Koutarou lightly taps the tip of his left foot on the side of Akaashi’s right foot under the table. 

Akaashi startles a little, and looks up in question. 

“Tell me what’s on your mind,” Koutarou encourages. 

“Hmm, well,” Akaashi sits up straight, and rests his head on his left hand that’s now propped up on the table, “I don’t really know where I _want_ to be.”

Koutarou is a little confused. He doesn’t really understand how someone doesn’t even know what they want to do. 

“What would you do if you were given an entire day free to yourself?” Koutarou frames the question a different way. 

“I will make a plan,” Akaashi’s eyes seem to light up, “I will list out the work I have for the next day and also the errands I would need to run and …Oh! Preferably start working on a resume--”

“No, ’kaashi ’kaashi,” Koutarou pats his hands on the table to pause Akaashi’s burst of chain reaction, “I meant a day where you don’t have to worry about school work, deadline or the future at all!” 

“Oh,” Akaashi purses his lips, his olive eyes moving slightly as a sign of him thinking hard, “then I’ll probably write all day. Or read.” He looks at Koutarou, and says with mischief in his eyes, “and maybe get Bokuto-san to take me to the Black Jackals gym and spike some of my tosses--it’s been a while since we’ve done that.”

Koutarou almost cries on the fucking spot. 

It’s not fair. Akaashi can’t say shit like this without a trigger warning. Koutarou’s not usually a crybaby but shit, maybe Akaashi just brings out that side of him. 

“Appreciate the thought, Akaashi,” he wipes at his imaginary tears, which earns a light chuckle from the young man sitting across him. 

“ _Buuuuut_ , I don’t really know much about literature and... all that jazz,” Koutarou waves his hand in an ambiguous way, which makes Akaashi’s brows perk up, “but that sounds like something close to a publishing company’s job. That’s where you get to read _and_ write, right?”

Koutarou knows, the way to help Akaashi get rid of the tendency to overthink is to guide his thinking onto something more straight forward instead. And he has done it probably hundreds of times, saving Akaashi from collapsing into his own thoughts during high school exams, volleyball matches and now, a coming-of-age crisis over which department he should stick with in college.

“You’re right, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi nods, the sun somehow finding its way onto those green eyes, making them look like half see-through hard jade (fucking enchanting, Koutarou’s bitchy brain comments and he mentally nods in agreement), “maybe I will talk to my counselor about this.” 

“Well, then. Perfect!” Koutarou flashes Akaashi his big dumb grin again, the latter smiles affectionately. 

He really loves his best friend, and he really won’t stop doing so.  
  


**Spring, 2014**

“Left!!!” Koutarou yells to Akaashi as he secures his run-up distance. His legs propel him forward and up in midair. Akaashi delivers the ball--as always--and Koutarou spikes it down. With 50% power because he’s playing with the rest of his Fukurodani team from two years ago at their school gymnasium. “The rest of his Fukurodani team” only include one other professional player, and the rest are one civil servant, one pharmaceutical company worker, one aspiring actor, one college student (proudly representing the department of Japanese Literature) and two high school graduates. Everyone except for Koutarou and Washio is rusty as shit. 

You can maybe say the game is a little lopsided. 

“That’s not fair Bokuto-san,” Sarukui whines on the other side of the net when the ball hits the gym floor, clearly upset with the team assignment, “you’ve had professional training for an entire year _and_ you have Akaashi-san to serve for you. You’re practically invincible!” 

Koutarou gloats. He practically glows with the light emitting from within himself. 

Getting praised is one thing, but getting praised with a bonus sprinkle of Akaashi in there? Drug. Instant ecstasy. Cloud nine is not that far away now isn’t it?

“Eurheaahaahah!” Koutarou explodes with his Ace Laughter (he should probably get it trademarked), hands on his hips, “just like the old days, huh? Hey hey hey!”

Everyone looks at him wearily. 

“Hey hey hey?” Koutarou tries again, wiggling his eyebrows. 

Akaashi is the first to give in. “Hey...hey, hey.”

“Thank you Akaashi,” Koutarou bows and whips back up, then pouting at the rest of his team, “why can’t you guys be a little more cooperative? Let’s try again: hey hey hey!”

“Hey, hey, hey...”

“That’s it! Euhahahaha!”

* * *

The fourth round of orders are being placed for the Fukurodani reunion/Wataru and Anahori’s graduation celebration dinner when Koutarou decides to go out for some fresh air. It’s getting stuffy, he proclaims. Konoha joins him. 

“So, Bokuto,” when the two young men settle outside by the sidewalk, the ex wing spiker says, “how are things?”

“Things?” Koutarou thinks for a second, “they’re good I think. Number 7 from Inarizaki, Miya Atsumu, joined us last winter as our new setter. So we’ve been trying to work things o--”

“No, Bokuto,” Konoha suddenly looks very serious, “I meant how are things with Akaashi-kun.”

“Konoha,” Koutarou chuckles, trying to mask his quickened heartbeat, “why are you acting all so mature?”

Konoha deadpans. Koutarou’s nerves finally catch up with him. 

“Why’d you ask?”

“You know why I’m asking, Koutarou,” Konoha says lightly. 

“So you’ve heard, huh?” Koutarou asks, after a moment. 

“It’s been two years and yes, everyone on the fucking team have _been_ known, Koutarou,” Konoha snaps, and for some reason that Koutarou can’t pin down, he sounds angry, “you two made quite a show at graduation.”

“What, the part where Akaashi dragged me away or us crying like fucking babies?” Koutarou chuckles bitterly. He’s getting worked up too. 

“Please, Koutarou,” Konoha sighs, deflating, “I’m trying to get you to see.”

“See what?” 

“See… Doesn’t matter,” he huffs, a little annoyed, “just tell me how you guys have been.”

“Akaashi and I still are best friends,” Konoha responds truthfully, then adds, “we’ve been through rough patches but… two years is a long time. I think we’ve had it figured out.”

“Do you love him, Koutarou?” Konoha asks, out of the blue. 

Koutarou feels very much caught off guard. 

This is the question he asks himself every night before bed. Does he, Bokuto Koutarou, love Akaashi? Is he content being just best friends? Does he have the courage to ask those questions? Is he being selfish, or selfless?

Koutarou never really thinks that deep. Not because he can’t, but because he won’t. 

“I do love Akaashi, he’s my best friend,” Koutarou mumbles, he’s pretty sure that’s not what Konoha is referring to. 

“Romantically, Koutarou, don’t play games with me,” ah. There it is. 

“I think I do,” Koutarou thinks for a second, then says, “I definitely did love him in high school. But now, it’s strange.”

He looks at Konoha. The latter looks back encouragingly. 

“It’s strange because...” Koutarou trails off. He doesn’t know if he wants to dig that deep into himself. 

“I think you’re overcomplicating things,” the dirty blonde cuts in, “you usually don’t think this much,”--Koutarou fumes--“but you are overdoing it now.”

“Well it’s not that easy, either!” Koutarou crosses his arms. It’s hopeless, really. 

“But it is,” Konoha says with a knowing look on his face, which pisses Koutarou off, “it is that easy if you want it to be.”

Koutarou closes his eyes for a moment before shouting back, “Don’t try to sound so fucking philosophical when you don’t know what you’re talking about!”

The rest of their conversation borderlines useless, with the two of them shooting remarks at each other, before they finally get back to their teammates. But Koutarou doesn’t quite forget what Konoha says. 

It is that easy if you want it to be.

Is it?

* * *

The sways of the train are hypnotizing. Koutarou’s eyelids keep drooping close, but he forces them to stay open. On Akaashi, who sits across from him. God knows when they can hang out again after this, and Koutarou’s not about to let these small moments slip by. 

Each second counts, he firmly believes. But counts to what, that’s another question. 

Another question… That Koutarou… Oh god he is so tired...

That Koutarou doesn’t really… know… Just closing my eyes for one second… 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi’s voice startles Koutarou, who immediately opens his eyes wide open again. 

“Yes?” he blinks. 

“You can close your eyes if you’re tired,” Akaashi smiles, “I will let you know when it’s our stop.”

“But I don’t wanna,” Koutarou leans his head back on the glass window, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. 

“You clearly look tired,” Akaashi says, “you just got back this afternoon, didn’t you?”

He did. It is technically not off-season, but Koutarou decides to take this weekend to visit Tokyo for his kouhais' graduation celebration. He doesn’t want to miss another one, after Akaashi’s. 

“It’s fine,” Koutarou grins, struggling to fight off the sleepy demon, “I would rather look at you.”

Both of them blush furiously. 

Akaashi then makes the executive decision to stand up, walk to Koutarou’s side of the train, and sit down next to him. 

Alarms are set off in Koutarou’s head. Thighs are touching, thighs are touching, thighs are, _officially_ , touching. 

“Would you lean on me, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi turns to look at Koutarou. 

Their faces are way too close. Koutarou can see the light yellow-ish specks in Akaashi’s green irises. 

“Lean on you?” Koutarou repeats like a dumb parrot. 

“Close your eyes and rest a little,” Akaashi pats his left shoulder, “I don’t want you to trip over yourself later when you fall asleep walking.”

Koutarou smiles sheepishly--that might have happened once before in high school after volleyball practices. 

Okay, maybe twice. 

Or three. 

Or a handful of times. 

And each time Akaashi saved his ass from snapping his neck in half on the sidewalk. 

“Okay,” Koutarou gives in way too easily and leans his head over. 

Akaashi’s shoulder is not a particularly nice place to take a nap--Koutarou has known this for a while because he might or might not have been secretly comparing whose shoulder would be a better pillow since day one of dating (his conclusion from that scientific research is his own would be much better because more beef wink wink). But this doesn’t mean the experience is any less pleasant. 

Koutarou settles in, and rubs Akaashi’s shoulder with the side of his head like a kitten, which earns a light chuckle from his bony human pillow. Koutarou closes his eyes with satisfaction. 

Maybe it really _is_ that easy. 

What Akaashi doesn’t know though, is that Koutarou never really falls asleep.  
  


**Fall, 2014**

Things are… not ideal. But they are happening. 

Koutarou cracks open an eye carefully. In front of him are still Inunaki’s closed eyes. Inunaki’s hands are still on his chin. Their lips are still glued on top of each other’s and their tongues still entangled. 

Yup, Koutarou closes his eye, things are definitely happening. 

How did said things happen, you ask? Well. It is very short and simple if you look at it one way. 

Black Jackals are at practice. Practice wraps up. Koutarou takes a nice long shower of a thousand degrees. Koutarou walks out of the shower expecting no one in the locker room with just a towel around his waist. He sees Inunaki sitting with his headphones in so decides to jumpscare him. Inunaki jumps then shoves him into a locker. Some sort of unresolved sexual tension between them snaps. They kiss. 

What sort of unresolved sexual tension? 

Now, that’s a long story. Let’s backtrack even further. 

The tension has been hanging in the air between them ever since about three weeks ago when the Black Jackals played against the Green Rockets. 

It was a brutal match for Inunaki. With equally powerful spikers, it came down to the liberos to dig the balls up. They won the first set and lost the second. All was good, they were still figuring the Green Rockets out, no pressure. Third set was won and fourth set was lost. The pressure was getting there. Naturally, Inunaki was targeted and truth be told, he was handling it with grace until the end of the set. They were 3 points ahead and were about to reach set point before the Green Rockets rotated to Kiryu to serve, the formidable top three ace from Mujinazaka back in high school. Inunaki messed up one single dig, and the invincible front he put up fell apart instantly. Koutarou witnessed how his face lost all its colors and tried cheering him up. Nothing worked. Kiryu continued his service ace streak twice more. The final results were 3-2. 

Once they got back to their dorm, Inunaki collapsed and cried in front of Koutarou. Koutarou held him in his arms tightly the entire night, as the broken libero muttered nothingness into his shirt. 

They got up the second morning, went to practice, got groceries together, bickered over who the best character in One Piece is and ate dinner. Everything was the same. 

But nothing was the same, in a way. 

There was a shift in the way Koutarou and Inunaki interact. Koutarou can’t pinpoint it, but it feels like a magnetic field. When they are physically far apart from each other, they are perfectly normal. But whenever they are within two meters of each other, they both--or at least Koutarou, feels a sense of anticipation. His body leans towards Inunaki’s for some strange reason. Once Coach was giving them instructions during break, they were standing next to each other, and Koutarou’s hand naturally made its way toward the small of the other man’s back, before he realized what he was doing and stopped himself. Atsumu saw this and eyed him up and down strangely. Koutarou pretended he didn’t do anything weird. 

This force only grew stronger with time. It happens in the morning when they greet each other with sleepy eyes in the kitchen. It happens when Inunaki digs up Koutarou’s spike at practice and they two would hold a gaze a second too long. It happens when they watch movies together at their dorm and they are sitting way too close but just not close enough. 

Then it snaps, in the Black Jackals training gym locker room, on a rainy afternoon. 

Koutarou and Inunaki parted for a second, both panting heavily. 

“What the fuck...” Koutarou breathes, “is going on?”

“Beats me,” Inunaki chuckles, then gets serious for a moment, “do you… want to?”

Koutarou thinks of Akaashi. For a split second. Only because it’s second nature to. 

“Fuck yeah I do.”

* * *

Koutarou calls Akaashi in his room after fucking Inunaki’s brains out on their couch and leaving him there wrapped in blankets, in a coma-like slumber. Because apparently that’s how shitty of a person he is. A lot of self hatred is bubbling up, and he needs to hear some kind of reassurance. So he goes back to Akaashi. Which even adds more to his guilt. 

They don’t talk about anything too substantial. Akaashi probably senses that Koutarou is going through something, but he doesn’t ask, because Koutarou doesn’t tell. Akaashi knows Koutarou, so he would know that Koutarou shares most anything, so if he doesn’t, it is something that he really doesn’t want to talk about. 

And fucking your roommate when you’re still supposedly in love with your best friend is not something Koutarou is ready to talk about with said best friend. 

So, Koutarou sits on his tiny balcony, finger tracing the striped leaves of Haru, the spider plant, while listening to Akaashi talk about running for student president. The thunderstorm from the afternoon has eased up quite a bit, but there’s still a light shower outside. 

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi calls Koutarou’s name after concluding his talk about school, “are you okay?”

Koutarou takes a deep breath. 

Something deep inside him is stirring, but he doesn’t feel like crying. It’s bizarre. 

“Yeah ’kaashi,” Koutarou responds, “I’m okay.”

Because he is.  
  


**Winter 2014**

Koutarou never underestimates Akaashi. He knows what he’s capable of. He knows his best friend is the smartest person he has met (Tsukki comes in second by a hair) and that he is going to achieve amazing things in his life. 

But never underestimating doesn’t mean his prediction is always correct. 

The point is, when Koutarou comes to surprise Akaashi on his university campus outside of his lecture hall building, he didn’t predict seeing his best friend holding hands with another girl. But he witnesses it nonetheless. 

Koutarou suddenly feels like he’s intruding on something, when he stares from a distance away, at the couple. Akaashi is dressed in his casual attire for class, and he is smiling when exchanging a few words with the girl. The girl has strawberry pink hair and big pretty eyes. She is skipping a little in her steps, and she seems excited around Akaashi, but not obnoxiously. 

Koutarou can’t, and also won’t, hate her. If anything, he is thankful for the girl. She was probably there for Akaashi in the times that he couldn’t be. Plus, the mythic colors of the secret with Inunaki seems to have faded in the face of… this.

He ignores that sinking feeling in his chest threatening to tear him to shreds. He takes a deep breath. He is okay. 

Koutarou nods, and turns around without a second look. He takes out his phone and calls Inunaki. 

“Say Inu-san,” it’s Koutarou’s new way of calling his friend/roommate(/something more?), “does your offer for the theme park still stand?”  
  


**Spring, 2015**

A pink petal falls right in front of Koutarou’s eyes on his way back to his dorm from a grocery run with Inunaki. They decided to take the trail through the park, which now in hindsight, was a great decision to make. 

He blinks and stops in his tracks all together. 

“Koutarou?” Inunaki pauses for him by his side. 

Koutarou looks up. 

All he sees is pink. It’s breathtaking, and heartbreaking.

He feels dazed for a moment, as the sight in front of him overlaps with the memory of his graduation day. 

That day too, he was swimming among the sea of soft, pink petals, head underwater. 

Three years, it has been. Three cherry blossom seasons, it has been. Three years without Akaashi by his side, it has been. 

Absent-mindedly, Koutarou asks, “are the cherry blossoms pretty, Inu-san?”

“They’re very pretty,” the silver-haired man answers, walking up to Koutarou and mimicking his posture by looking up at the million tiny pink flowers on the tree branches, “looking at them reminds me of looking up at the bubbles at the surface of the sea from below. You know, when you’re swimming underwater?”

Inunaki is born and raised by the beach in Wakayama Prefecture, so it’s expected of him to say something related to the beach. 

But nonetheless Koutarou snaps his gaze to Inunaki. Inunaki understands, without Koutarou having to say anything at all. 

He feels his chest swelling. The routine of tossing and turning in self-pity and reminiscence whenever he sees cherry blossoms is suddenly shattered, right then and there, by the merciless yet kind hands of the libero. 

Is it possible? Koutarou thinks to himself. Is his heart capable of giving out more space for someone else? Is Koutarou himself _willing_ to let it do so?

Three years, it has been. Long enough, it has been, Koutarou decides. 

So he lets his heart do it. 

“You’re absolutely right Inu-san,” Koutarou answers with a chuckle, suddenly it _is_ that easy, “that feeling of going underwater.”

When Inunaki turns around with a smile in his amber eyes, Koutarou meets him halfway with a kiss. His hand naturally finds its way up to the back of Inunaki’s head and gently brings him in closer. It catches Inunaki by surprise as his eyes widen, but he melts under that kiss in two seconds’ time. 

Koutarou takes a deep breath. Burning the memory of Inunaki’s soft silver hair into his head along the saccharine aroma around them. 

So, that’s how on that brilliant day in April when he kisses Inunaki under the sea of cherry blossoms, Koutarou starts letting a new man through the cracks of his heart. 

* * *

akaashi have the cherry blossoms bloomed in tokyo yet?? •́ε•̀٥

(5:38 p.m.)

Yes Bokuto-san, they bloomed two nights ago. 

(5:59 p.m.)

They remind me of Bokuto-san… a little.

(6:03 p.m.)

ahhh i’m glad to hear :,) missing u akaashi! lmk if u wanna video call soon!

(6:24 p.m.)

Of course, Bokuto-san. 

(6:35 p.m.)  
  


**Summer, 2015**

Koutarou finds himself in an awkward position. Between Akaashi and Inunaki. 

Sandwiched, if you will. There is probably a symbolism in there somewhere that he doesn’t bother to read. 

Truth be told, he is never someone to change who he is based on what is “awkward” and what is not. He has been that way since junior high. Back on those volleyball club runs where he eventually found himself alone. Both literally and metaphorically. 

Koutarou didn’t care, because he didn’t have a reason to. He had one goal back then, and it was to get better. So he didn’t care about the stolen glances between his classmates. Or the hushed words whenever he approached them. Because he arrived at where he needed, gracefully. 

But _this_ , which is trying to balance the attention he gives to two men sitting on either side of him without letting them see that he is trying (oh but he’s trying so very hard), is awkward. 

They’re at a bar out celebrating for a win against South Korea for day 2 of the FIVB Volleyball World League in Tokyo. The atmosphere is friendly, if not a little confusing--there are a lot of people present with a lot of different connections to Koutarou one way or another. For starters, out of the Black Jackals, Atsumu, Inunaki and Barnes are present. At another table from them, are some players from other professional teams, namely Kageyama and Ushiwaka. Then, we have the supportive family/friends, Atsumu’s twin Osamu, and Kuroo and Akaashi who are here for Koutarou. 

So. As Koutarou anticipated. Chaos. 

But it was Koutarou himself who brought his own demise upon himself. 

“You really should’ve considered the possibility of me not being able to hit that which by the way--is not that uncommon even among pro-players!” Two seconds ago, Koutarou slammed his fist a little too enthusiastically on the tabletop, “where the fuck did it even come from?”

Yes he was complaining about a way-too-quick set from Atsumu. Yes he was being a whiny baby. Sue him. 

But Koutaoru never should’ve asked Atsumu that stupid question--no he never should’ve talked to Atsumu--no he _should’ve_ kindly asked Osamu take his mess of a brother home. 

Because the next second, without a babysitter over Atsumu’s big, drunk tongue, he speaks, without knowing his words are the horsemen of the apocalypse themselves. 

“Ah please Bokkun, I know ya woulda been able to catch up,” Atsumu makes an ambiguous gesture with his right hand, holding a bottle of half emptied beer. Then he turns to his side, where Inunaki sits, and slings an arm around the smaller man. 

Inunaki deadpans, eyeing Koutarou. A Koutarou who’s now reconsidering his life decisions. 

Uh oh. 

“Inu-san knows!” Atsumu pats the poor man’s chest with a shitty jock-like attitude, which earns a glance from Osamu sitting on the other side of him, “don’tcha Inu-san? Tell us how ya would dig up every single ball that Bokkun misses or gets rebound back!”

If you’re a libero and your partner’s a spiker, do Koutarou a favor and write this in your wedding vows please. Yeah, that’s how scandalous it is--in volleyball terms. 

Koutarou swallows a little nervously, eyes darting sideways to Akaashi, who is sitting next to him. Akaashi wears a polite smile, blinking intrigued behind the black framed glasses at Atsumu. 

Koutarou’s gaze flits back to Inunaki. Inunaki is not looking at him anymore. He is suddenly very interested in the wine glasses hanging upside down on top of their heads. Oh but his arms do look delicious bulging in that white shirt. Ahem. 

Again. Sandwiched. 

“Well,” Koutarou tries saving his own ass, “Inu-san doesn’t need to ans--”

“Inu-san!” Atsumu’s voice somehow overlaps and overpowers Koutarou’s--it has never happened before, Koutarou is _stunned_ , “give us yer honest opinion!”

“’Tsumu-” Osamu finally speaks. Koutarou almost sees Osamu mentally rolling up his sleeves to do _work_. 

“Koutarou doesn’t need to worry whenever he’s hitting spikes,” Inunaki cuts in--which surprises everyone--eyes landing on Koutarou (fina-fucking-lly), his lips pursed into thin lines. “That’s all I will say.”

“Aaaaand there ya have it!” Atsumu burps and finally lets go of the libero, blissfully ignorant of the strange dynamics around him, “Bokkun ya should feel lucky to have such a strong backup!” 

Bokkun feels exposed right now, if anything. He looks at Osamu with begging eyes--the other twin has been hanging around with them long enough to know what Koutarou means. Osamu nods, but Atsumu has already opened his mouth again. 

“Also, didn’tcha two--”

“Aaaaalright there big man, let’s go get some fresh air fer ya,” Osamu shoves a handful of fries up Atsumu’s mouth, who’s now protesting with inaudible swears, “ya need to hold back on those big words.”

The Miya twins leave the table, arms flinging at each other. 

And somehow that makes everything worse. Because Koutarou sits, with Akaashi on his left, Inunaki on his right, and a returning Kuroo from the bathroom. 

Kuroo crunches his nose up the moment he approaches their table. “What is this?”

“Huh?” Koutarou turns to look at his savior in all his glory basking in the dim bar lighting, maybe this black haired bastard really is an angel sent to save his dumb ass. 

“What’s this… tension?” Kuroo waves a hand pointedly between Akaashi, Koutarou and Inunaki. 

Scratch that. Koutarou should’ve known Kuroo would never be a savior for him. A devil dressed in angelic halo, maybe. 

Koutarou decides to leave. 

Not _leave_ leave, but leave the table and go hide in a bathroom stall or something as long he’s not existing right _here_. 

So he does just that. 

Without an explanation, Koutarou stands up swiftly and turns on his heels. He tips his head back high enough to only see the ceiling, and not the faces of his friends. 

Fuck this. He’s out. 

* * *

“Koutarou.”

“Go away.”

“Koutarou, please?”

A groan. “Can’t I be embarrassed alone?”

“Koutarou you’re being immature.”

“You try being the one stuck between your ex and your current--whatever we are.”

A pause. 

“Koutarou, open the door please.”

Koutarou sighs like the 20 year old man he is, and flips the latch on the door. It inches open with a comedic slow and agonizing speed--Koutarou tries not to laugh--which reveals a Inunaki behind it. He gently pushes the door wider and steps into the stall. The door closes behind him on its own. 

“I don’t think this is for two people’s use, Inu-san,” Koutarou mumbles, but his hands already find Inunaki’s, bringing him close. 

Inunaki all but chuckles. 

They share a long and silent moment with Koutarou’s head resting on Inunaki’s belly. 

It’s nice, and he wishes he can stay forever like this, hidden away from the rest of the world with his Inu-san. Yes in this bathroom stall in the bustling exclusive bar in downtown Tokyo in particular because suddenly, this is where Koutarou belongs, next to Inunaki. 

Koutarou sighs, and smooshes his face into Inunaki’s silky dress shirt. 

Hmm he smells like wood and linen and a little bit of alcohol. Nice. 

“What’s going on Koutarou?” Inunaki asks softly, hands combing through Koutarou’s hair. 

“I don’t even know…” Koutarou’s voice sounds muffled, “it’s you and Akaashi… I don’t know.” 

“Are you embarrassed because I said you didn’t need to worry about anything during games...?” 

“No!” Koutarou raises his voice and looks up at Inunaki, “no. ’m not embarrassed by you, not in any way.” 

“Then what is it?” Inunaki’s grey eyes are kind. They don’t try to pick Koutarou apart or watch him make a joke out of himself. They contain all of Inunaki and then the reflection of Koutarou. He can almost see his own honey hued eyes in there. 

“Akaashi texted me in April when he got together with his current girlfriend but… I didn’t… well, I haven’t… um, y'know… _toldhimaboutus_.”

Koutarou whispers in one go. He is wishing Inunaki doesn’t hear that. 

“What’s there to talk about us?”

Oh. _Oh_. Um ok time to dig a grave right then and there for himself to disappear forever since apparently Inunaki doesn’t return his feelings and--

“Do you want there to be an ‘us’?” Inunaki doesn’t give him a chance to spiral too far. 

Pause. Does he?

Koutarou thinks hard, tilting his head to the side. 

He thinks of them blowing raspberries on each other’s belly. He thinks of the dirty looks during break at practice. He thinks of the hushed conversations under the same blanket. He thinks of long nights of never ending dreams, of a shorter man with silver hair and bright ash eyes. He thinks of Inunaki’s arms ohmygod those fucking arms yeah he’s been eying them the entire night under that almost see-through dress shirt mhm yum and he just wants to--

Stop. No. Wrong line of thinking.

“Say that… well… if, and I said _if_ , I want there to be an ‘us’,” Koutarou cringes at his own choice of words, “what would we be?”

“We can be whatever you want us to be, Koutarou,” Inunaki says naturally. 

“But… we’re on the same team… And what if one of us eventually leaves the Black Jackals one day once our contract expires…?”

“Koutarou Koutarou Koutarou,” Inunaki laces his fingers in Koutarou’s hair to slow him down, and the latter almost _moans_ , “it’s all about right now, isn’t it?”

Right, as if it makes all the sense in the world. 

Wait. 

It does make all the sense in the world. Just as Konoha said that one time--can’t believe Koutarou’s actually quoting that fucker--it is that easy. 

Koutarou rests his gaze on Inunaki. A faint trace of a smile is on his lips, and he looks at Koutarou as if… Well, he just looks at Koutarou. In those eyes that can hold a million pink petals, Koutarou somehow finds a place for himself too. 

How did he get this lucky? 

“Inu-san...” Koutarou stands up from the toilet seat and crowds over Inunaki, the shorter man’s breath hitches--apparently Inunaki has a thing for height--as Koutarou invades all of his personal space and cups his chin, “will you wait for me? I think I need some time to think about it.”

Inunaki huffs, eyes squinting from a growing smile, “why’d you have to sound all so serious?”

“Well?” Koutarou even leans in closer, his lips hovering over Inunaki’s fluttering eyelashes, his hand tracing the underside of Inunaki’s chin. 

“Yeah Koutarou, I’ll wait for you.”

Koutarou tips Inunaki’s chin upward, and presses his lips on top of the shorter man’s. 

They nibble at each other harmlessly for a little, before Inunaki shifts his legs to press one between Koutarou’s, which sets something aflame deep inside him. Koutarou can feel the smirk from Inunaki on his lips. 

Oh this little--!

Koutarou doesn’t finish that thought because Inunaki parts his lips shyly. So he uses his tongue instead of his (not) malicious thoughts. He swirls it gently against Inunaki’s tongue, as if playing a game of cat and mouse. 

The kiss is getting messy and slippery when Inunaki moans--he has the audacity to _moan_ against Koutarou’s lips, in a public bathroom!! 

“Hotel--!” Koutarou squeezes the words out between their lips. 

Inunaki furiously nods, jumps, and wraps his legs on Koutarou’s waist. 

Oh god help Koutarou because he is _so_ , _very_ , gay. 

When he stumbles out of the bathroom stall--the latch is hard to handle when you are already holding someone hanging on you like a koala ok?--Koutarou comes face to face with--Akaashi. 

Akaashi stands in the middle of the empty bathroom and looks at him--them, with genuine surprise. His jaw drops open and he stares dead on at Koutarou. Koutarou doesn’t miss that flash of hurt. Akaashi suddenly seems very very small and skinny. 

Koutarou’s throat feels funny. 

Inunaki must have felt Koutarou’s body tensing up, because he breaks the kiss and turns around, “What’s wrong Kouta-- Oh.”

“Akaashi,” Koutarou gently let Inunaki down to the floor, “I think I should tell you--”

“You don’t have to explain, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiles and says quickly, his eyes are a little shiny, “you don’t owe me any explanation. I was coming in to tell you that I’m taking my leave anyways, so-- See you soon, Bokuto-san. And good luck on your games, Inunaki-san.”

With that, Akaashi bows his head a little, turns around and walks out. He leaves a little too hastily.

Koutarou feels a squeeze on his hand when he’s still glancing out at the front door of the bar that Akaashi exits from. He looks back at Inunaki. 

“I’m proud of you, y’know?” Inunaki opens his arms into a small embrace that Koutarou lets himself sink into. 

“I know.”

Koutarou’s eyes sting.  
  


**Fall, 2015**

Koutarou and Inunaki are on vacation. In their own dorm. With an inflatable ~~kiddie~~ pool (maybe too small for the two grown professional volleyball players to sit in but oh well what can you do) put in the middle of the living room. And cocktails. With 90’s Japanese synth-pop playing in the background. 

Ah life is good. 

Koutarou likes to think they’re at a beach somewhere in the middle of July--a summer trip, that’s what they promised each other. Then they were caught up in a seemingly never ending summer volleyball season. Now it’s the end of October (Halloweek coming up, by the way) and they barely got three days of break before the new season so a grown man like Koutarou would have to make do by spending an hour inflating a purple inflatable ~~kiddie~~ pool then another one trying to figure out how to fill it full with water (he used their cooking pot at the end), in order to surprise his overworked libero. Also he has something to tell Inunaki so that’s exciting. Somehow Koutarou finished on time, and when Inunaki came home from the grocery store to find Koutarou half naked with only swimming trunks on, hands holding two mugs of cocktail, the man laughed and kissed him and laughed some more. 

And Koutarou felt those two miserable hours were worth it. 

So there they are, chilling in the [5.75' Inflatable Blue and Purple Octopus Above Ground Children's Swimming Pool](https://www.walmart.com/ip/5-75-Inflatable-Blue-and-Purple-Octopus-Above-Ground-Children-s-Swimming-Pool/501203199) Koutarou secretly bought online, sipping alcohol drinks that are a little too sweet. 

You know, like grown adults do. 

Koutarou watches as Inunaki takes a sip of his margarita. He gapes a little when Inunaki combs his free hand through his silver hair, clear droplets of water tracing the contour of the underside of his arms. His legs are stretched in front of him, and his feet rest on Koutarou’s criss-cross-apple-sauced thighs. From this angle, Koutaoru has quite the view. The libero’s toned thighs and calves are in their full glory under the warm late afternoon sun. 

Hmm, totally not salivating. 

“I still haven’t asked, what’s the occasion?” Inunaki asks after putting the margarita--which is poured unceremoniously into a huge kitten mug by Koutarou an hour ago--down on the floor outside the ~~kiddie~~ pool. 

“Well, I thought it would be nice to make up for our planned beach trip back in July,” Koutarou shrugs, “plus, this is our last break before winter season kicks in and we can’t possibly fill up a kid--an inflatable pool when it starts snowing.”

He is lying. Partially. For his secret mission wink wink. 

“You’re lying, there’s more to it.” Inunaki says without a single pause, humming in the back of his throat. 

Well. He tried. 

After knowing this man for three years, Koutarou is still constantly amazed at how Inunaki can understand him without a single word spoken. That’s why Koutarou literally cannot lie about Inunaki’s snacks or ice cream that he has stolen. The man just fucking knows. Psychic, he decides. 

So Koutarou doesn’t try to lie again. 

“Well, I’ve been thinking...” Koutarou trails off. He takes a gulp of the margarita to prepare himself, then accidentally chokes. 

Inunaki looks at him with an incredulous look on his face as Koutarou coughs half of his lungs out. 

“You were saying?”

“Hmm yes,” Koutarou takes a deep breath and sets his own margarita mug (with an owl graphic, duh) down on the floor. He adjusts himself a little in the ~~kiddie~~ pool, and reaches his hands out to Inunaki’s, which are underwater. Inunaki turns his hands to face upward, and curls his fingers around Koutarou’s. The rough callouses calm him down--they remind Koutarou of himself. He takes a deep breath. 

“I did some thinking, and I want there to be an official ‘us’. An ‘us’ where we play volleyball together, live together, have fun together, but the bonus is we get to make out and fuck each other’s brain out from time to time. Also exclusively. So no more dating apps swipes. Or hooking up with a stranger at a club. I love you, so please be my boyfriend.”

Koutarou finishes, and peers at Inunaki. 

There is a hint of blush on Inunaki’s cheeks from the alcohol, the warm sun setting west, and probably from Koutarou’s speech. Koutarou would like to think that way, at least. It’s rewarding, knowing how much influence he has on the man he...loves. 

Yeah, the man he _loves_. Not in a BRO way, not in a “I’m horny your thighs feel good” way, not even in a “I trust the spikes I go for because of you” way. But all of them combined, then some. 

Inunaki looks at Koutarou _that_ way again, with his eyes glistening and lips curled just the slightest, and Koutarou just knows. Inunaki nods, and grins. 

“I love you too.”

Oh sweet heavens. It’s dazzling. _He’s_ dazzling. 

“Will my newly promoted boyfriend then give me a kiss?” Koutarou asks, raising his voice a little bit. 

“Promoted?” Inunaki gives him a glance, but he’s already crawling towards Koutarou on all fours, “what, is _Bokuto-san_ happy with this month’s sales?”

Silence. 

It’s a joke over your honorifics because haha jobs! Laugh! Koutarou tells himself. But he feels his body freezing up and suddenly everything starts rushing in, the emotions he has kept at bay, the memories he thought he has locked away safely, and that image of the black haired boy. His throat tingles, and oh it hurts. It hurts so much in his chest, as if someone is squeezing his beating heart.

A sob breaks out. 

All because of a joking “Bokuto-san”. 

Koutarou keeps his gaze on Inunaki as tears crowd up, blurring his vision. Inunaki’s furrowed brows and horrified eyes melt into the rest of his face as a blob of flesh color. 

No no no I am in front of Inu-san, I don’t want to think of _him..._!!!

Nonetheless, the figure of Akaashi pops into his head. 

_“It’s Akaashi, not Akashi, Bokuto-san.”_

_“Lunch under that tree? Sure, Bokuto-san.”_

_“That’s ok, Bokuto-san. Please use this time to calm down.”_

_“Bokuto-san... please..._ touch _me.”_

_“Bokuto-san, I think we should break up.”_

_“You don’t have to explain, Bokuto-san.”_

Inunaki just holds him, and doesn’t say anything when Koutarou cries. He just holds him, like Koutarou once did two years ago. 

* * *

“Inu-san...” Koutarou mumbles into Inunaki’s neck, in complete darkness. It’s probably not even nine, but Inunaki insisted on going to bed together after eating and showering. 

“Yes, Koutarou?” Inunaki answers. There’s no anger in his voice, or blame. He sounds patient, like he always does. 

Koutarou chokes up with guilt and shame. “...I. I’m sorry.”

“If anyone, I should be the one who says sorry,” Inunaki’s arms around him tighten, “I shouldn’t have been insensitive and called you...that...”

“But it’s not your fault!” Koutarou clenches his fist that’s resting on Inunaki’s chest, letting his blunt nails dig painfully into his palm, “I just told you we should be boyfriends, then I start crying over my ex? Who even does that?”

“Someone who has a big heart does,” Inunaki answers, wrapping a hand around Koutarou’s clenched fist, “and stop hurting yourself. I can hear your veins popping from here.”

Koutarou smiles and relaxes his hand. Inunaki’s words make his eyes sting again, but they’re too tired to produce any more tears since the break down three hours ago. 

“I have a big heart?” Koutarou’s voice is tiny. He _feels_ tiny. In Inunaki’s arms. 

“You do,” Inunaki’s other hand finds Koutarou’s damp hair and buries itself in there, “you love so many around you so fiercely... that you get caught up in it when someone leaves.”

Neither of them says anything for a moment. Then Inunaki breaks the silence again.

“You still love him, don’t you Koutarou.” It’s not a question, but a statement. A statement that doesn’t expect any answer. 

Koutarou’s breath shudders. 

Do I? It’s this question that he has asked himself endlessly. At first, Koutarou thought he would always love Akaashi and this heartbreak would last forever. Then, he started, or at least tried, thinking of Akaashi only as his best friend and loving him that way. And he succeeded, for a while, long enough for him to fall in love with Inunaki. But this afternoon, right after he confessed, he fell into pieces over “Bokuto-san”? It feels like his mind is playing tricks with him at this point. 

“But I love _you_ , Inu-san,” Koutarou bites down on his words, a little mad at himself, “I hope you know I wasn’t just joking with what I said earlier. I do love you.”

As if trying to prove it to someone, Koutarou scooches upward and leaves a little kiss by the other man’s chin. 

Inunaki turns and catches his lips with his own. He deepens the kiss. 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page because I love you too, Koutarou,” Inunaki breathes when he lets go, and hesitates before adding, “do you want to talk about why you cried?”

“Well it’s obvious I cried because you called me Bokuto-san.” 

“But why exactly?”

Koutarou looks at Inunaki like he’s crazy for asking this question but then... _oh_. 

Oh. It’s that feeling you have when you exit the movie theatre after sitting through a three hour long film. It’s the line blurring between reality and somewhere else. Somewhere hazy and in the unconscious world. Introspection. 

The realization hits Koutarou and he starts talking before he can even stop himself, “I cried because I’m letting go.”

Inunaki looks at him encouragingly. 

“I... I was scared,” Koutarou swallows hard, “scared of loving you and forgetting Akaashi. Scared of moving on and leaving him behind. And it’s crazy because he also moved on, but I feel guilty, _still_ , for leaving him so many years ago.”

“But I think you should be selfish once in a while, eh, Koutarou?” Inunaki says, his voice hushed, “reconcile with your past mistakes. Accept that voice in you. Be with who makes you happy. It hurts me, seeing you constantly being hurt by Akaashi-kun.”

Koutarou goes silent. He feels as if part of him that he is desperately trying to hide is exposed. 

Did Koutarou know he was constantly being hurt by Akaashi? Subconsciously, maybe. But it never occurred to him that way when all he could think about was keeping Akaashi happy. He has thought of the process of getting hurt as a natural, justified price he had to pay. But Inunaki helps him see a different way around this. Not necessarily a better way, but definitely one that’s different and worth trying. 

Not hearing a response, Inunaki adds apologetically, “I know I’m not in a place to judge Akaashi’s actions, but I’m talking about Koutarou in specific. What you can do for yourself. Let _me_ take care of you.”

Koutarou’s breath hitches and squeezes his eyes shut. 

This is it. This is the moment of clarity that you get probably once in six months. This is the moment so significant that you have to pause to reflect back on your entire life that has led up to it. This is the moment where Koutarou gets to decide if he wants to wake up from a three year old dream he has willingly lulled himself in. 

The darkness he sees with his eye closed turns hot red then pink, as his tears trace down a warm path on his cheeks. He buries his face into the crook of Inunaki’s neck, the latter hugging him even closer. 

It’s probably time to wake up. 

“Please take care of me, Shion.”  
  


**Spring, 2016**

“A manga editor?!” Koutarou all but shouts with disbelief. 

A few people around them at the bar turn to look accusingly at the guilty one. 

“So you’re saying...” Koutarou lowers his voice dramatically and scooches in closer to Akaashi as if he’s doing some espionage work, “you get to see shounen mangas before they’re even edited?” 

“Yes, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi smiles at his childish behavior, “I believe that’s the work of an editor. But I’m currently on internship, technically. So I’m not sure if I get to see any fresh material just yet.”

“Still!” Koutarou grabs Akaashi’s hands--it’s his default setting when anywhere near Akaashi’s hands, “I am so happy for you!”

Akaashi seems to melt under the bright smile Koutarou has on his face, his grin widening just a little, “Thank you.”

“Then it’s a double celebration!” Koutarou calls the bartender and asks for their beers to be refilled. Once they are filled to the rim again, “Kanpai, Akaashi! For enduring four long years of Japanese Literature at university _and_ a new job to see unedited, raw shounen manga!”

“Kanpai.”

Their beer mugs clink in the space between them, the golden liquid sizzling under the dim lighting of the bar. Koutarou takes a generous gulp--thanks to years of experience of partying at sponsors’ clubs--and shifts his eyes to Akaashi, who, to his surprise, takes an impressive gulp just as huge. The black haired man winces, but does his best to not cough. Though he definitely looks like he’s about to. 

After the slight familiar burn down his throat clears, Koutarou comments, “wow, Akaashi. Big boy swig. Didn’t know you could drink like that.”

In the handful of times that Koutarou did drink with Akaashi, the younger man would tread ever so carefully around alcohol and has never gone past the first drink no matter the occasion. But now… guess things have changed?

“I mean,” Akaashi blushes, probably from the alcohol, “I want to set loose a little bit. After all, I’m finally done with sixteen years of education.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou echoes, still a little unsure, “it is a big celebration. Just remember to pace yourself.”

“Of course Bokuto-san,” Akaashi takes another sip, then as he looks at Koutarou through his long lashes he deliberately adds, “plus, I trust Bokuto-san’s judgement if I were to get wasted.”

Koutarou pauses, before he laughs. He’s not entirely sure as to why Akaashi would say that, but he goes with it, because the college graduate is clearly looking to have fun tonight. 

And so Akaashi’s graduation celebration unravels. With copious, if not excessive, amount of alcohol. 

Stories are told, jokes are laughed at, stupid comments from Koutarou are made and worried concerns are shared by Akaashi. Nothing too ordinary. 

As Koutaoru expects, Akaashi still can’t hold his liquor as well as his gulps would have indicated. But he is surprised that Akaashi has managed to keep it to himself until they leave the bar. 

The cold air chills Koutarou’s muddled mind the moment they step out, sobering him up quite a bit. Akaashi, on the other hand, is not doing well. His words are slurring, his face is way too flushed, and Koutarou is basically holding his entire body up from hitting the ground. They are a few steps from the train station when Akaashi makes a strangled sound and pats Koutarou’s shoulder furiously. 

“Akaashi?” Koutarou pauses in his tracks, “do you need a minute?”

Akaashi nods, and mumbles with difficulty, “Oh I think--um--”

Koutarou turns around just in time to see the facial expression he has seen on Atsumu’s face way too many times that always leads to projectile vomiting--Koutarou doesn’t even want to know how Atsumu’s even physically capable of producing that _every_ time he gets too wasted--on Akaashi’s face. 

Miraculously, Koutarou manages to pry Akaashi off his body in one swift motion and holds him in such a way so the wasted man can face the bushes of the sidewalk. He lowers their position just in time for Akaashi’s to throw up all over the little trees that are just sprouting new leaves. 

Yikes, Koutarou feels bad for the plants and his best friend of six years. In that order. 

A few minutes of gurgling and gagging and coughing and heaving (Koutarou tries not to think about it because or else he will throw up too), Akaashi empties most of the liquor he has drunk. Koutarou immediately provides the napkins and the bottle of water he has brought from the bar. He kind of saw it coming when Akaashi started giggling at their receipt because of how small the words were. Yeah, concerning. 

“Well,” Koutarou helps Akaashi wipe his mouth clean after he rinses his mouth out with water, “what an experience! Was that your first time throwing up from drinking?”

Ashamed and much more sober now, Akaashi nods slowly. “I’m sorry if I--”

“Bah no need to feel bad!” Koutarou helps Akaashi up to his feet, and they walk to a nearby bench to sit down, “maybe feel bad for the plants and whoever sees that in daylight tomorrow.”

Koutarou is pretty proud of the little joke there, but Akaashi just stares at him as if he has grown another head. 

“What?”

Koutarou recognizes the melancholy in those green eyes the moment before Akaashi covers his face with his hands. The black haired man turns away to face the street and his shoulders shook violently. 

Oh. 

Soft hitches of breath gradually make their way out of Akaashi, and every single one of them tugs at something deep in Koutarou that hasn’t been touched in a long time. Not since his breakdown in front of Inunaki in October. Koutarou takes a second to think of the time Akaashi last cried in front of him. 

Four years ago. Winter. Akaashi on his knees on Koutarou’s bed with his--

No. Koutarou takes a deep breath, clears his mind, and brings Akaashi’s shoulders into a hug close to his chest. Akaashi fits there naturally, as if he has never left all this time--

No. Koutarou cuts it off for the second time. He can do this. 

They are in a relatively laid back area in Tokyo--or as laid back as it can get in Tokyo, but Akaashi stays silent when crying, only letting occasional small noises bubble out. Koutarou rocks Akaashi back and forth, and pats his shoulder in a hypnotizing rhythm. Gradually, the intense shaking subdues, and Akaashi’s breathing evens. 

“I broke up with her,” Akaashi says before Koutarou even asks, his voice still ragged from crying. 

“Oh.” Koutarou genuinely doesn’t know what to do with this piece of information. He never knew the girl enough to comment on their relationship. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay,” Akaashi chuckles bitterly, “because you know what’s scary, Bokuto-san?”

“What is?”

Akaashi turns around in Koutarou’s arms and looks up at him with red-rimmed eyes, “I don’t feel sad over it. Not at all.”

Koutarou exhales slowly. Something feels like it’s crumbling in Koutarou. 

“Then… why did you cry?” Koutaruo debates if he wants to ask the question, but asks it anyway because he wants to be supportive of his best friend. 

Akaashi’s eyelashes flutter. Then he closes his eyes altogether. And he whispers just loud enough for Koutarou alone to hear, “because I missed you, Bokuto-san. I have been missing you since you left that summer to Osaka.”

_I miss you too Keiji I’ve been wanting to say this for so long you don’t even understand._

Koutarou opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He scans Akaashi’s face, trying to search for a clue as to what that means. But with his eyes--arguably the most expressive part of him--closed, no emotions other than acceptance are shown. Koutarou swallows nervously. 

“Can I...” Akaashi’s brows furrow for a second, before he takes a deep breath and opens his eyes, “can I kiss you, Bokuto-san?”

_Yes, yes,_ yes _Akaashi Keiji you can kiss me. You can always kiss me because I would always want to kiss you back._

Koutarou doesn’t let it out. But his body leans in the direction of Akaashi on its own when the other man’s gaze flits from Koutarou’s eyes to his lips, then back to his eyes. It’s an invitation, a request, a plea. A second chance. 

When he feels the breath coming from the set of lips he was so used to once upon a time, Koutarou musters all of his effort to say, “I’m dating Inunaki-san.”

Akaashi freezes. There are only five centimeters left between their lips. Then the distance widens as Akaashi slowly draws back. 

_Don’t leave, don’t leave_ again--

“I’m sorry, Akaashi,” Koutarou says, shutting that voice in himself up, “for not telling you earlier. I’ve been waiting for a good time--no I didn’t mean this was a good time because clearly it’s not but--I’ve been looking for--ugh...do you know what I mean, ’kaashi?”

It’s true. Granted, things have been better between them two since last summer at the World Cup because Koutarou has talked to Akaashi many times (over FaceTime and calls) and sorted some things out. Akaashi insists that he didn’t mind Inunaki’s existence in Koutarou’s life. But Koutarou has never had the balls to come clean since the kiddie pool breakdown incident of October and consequentially, his updated status with Inunaki. Not yet, he has told himself, it shouldn’t be told over texts, a phone call or FaceTime. Akaashi deserves the full truth, face to face heart to heart. But truthfully Koutarou has just been dragging it out. He, despite everything, doesn’t want to hurt Akaashi. 

But now he probably has. Successfully. 

Akaashi’s eyes are simply filled with surprise and confusion. The pain flashes for a mere second when his brows furrow, but Akaashi relaxes his face before Koutarou can see it clearly. 

“We don’t ever sync up anymore like we once did for volleyball now do we, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi smiles. His green eyes are squinted, there are tears, shining bright in the dark, on the verge of breaking loose. 

Koutarou doubts every single life decision he has made. 

“No matter,” Akaashi stands up and holds a hand to Koutarou, “congratulations Bokuto-san. I’m glad that Inunaki-san can make you happier than I did.”

Koutarou whips his head up at the words so hard that he almost hurts his neck. He wants to deny and exclaim “no Akaashi makes me the happiest!” but he knows they’d both know it’s a lie. These days, Inunaki helps him forget, move on, and live for himself without that sense of guilt that’s been there since he was seventeen. 

These days, Inunaki makes him _happy_. Truly happy.

“Come on, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi beckons to Koutarou to take his hand again, “let’s go back.”

Koutarou nods, lets the second chance pass, and takes Akaashi’s hand. 

* * *

It was an exceptionally cold spring. No cherry blossoms bloomed in Tokyo during Koutarou’s stay.  
  


**New Year’s, 2017**

Koutarou groans as he flips to check the time on his phone. His legs are still tangled with Inunaki’s, sore from riding him last night. Hmm. He smiles at the memory of the lust filled grey eyes and the half parted lips. 

There is a text message from Akaashi. 

Happy New Year’s, Bokuto-san. Hope you have a lucky year. 

(9:38 a.m.)

Koutarou smiles. 

akaaaaashi!! happy new years urself! ty for the wishes and hope ur doing good!

(11:30 a.m.)

Inunaki stirs beside him, and Koutarou puts his phone back on the nightstand. 

“Come back to my arms and cuddle, Koutarou,” the man mumbles. 

“Yes yes Inu-san!”

**Fall, 2017**

Fact 1: Koutarou loves yakiniku. 

Fact 2: Inunaki loves Koutarou. 

Fact 3: Inunaki knows a relatively small yakiniku restaurant in Chuo ward. 

Fact 4: IT’S BOKUTO KOUTAROU’S BIRTHDAY HEY HEY HEY!

Piece all that together, and boom you have a (relatively) huge Koutarou gaping at the (relatively) small restaurant after a twenty minute taxi ride from Ohasuhigashi to Chuo ward. Inunaki falters for a second, looking sheepishly at Koutarou’s expression, before the birthday boy takes him in a suffocating hug and spins the poor libero in the middle of the pavement like they’re in a romance movie. With a shiny grin, Koutarou deems the birthday surprise perfect, and one of the best he has received. Inunaki blushes and rolls his eyes, rubbing at his waist saying his body can’t take Koutarou’s outrageous actions, despite being only twenty-five years old himself. That, and he’s a professional libero player please thank you, Koutarou still has a long list of things he wants to do with his boyfriend when they get home tonight. 

Since it’s not off season, the two men didn’t order any alcohol. Instead, they take their time grilling all sorts of meat (beef is Koutarou’s favorite so they ordered probably six servings of sirloin steak slices) and drinking warm tea. 

“So, how does it feel like a twenty-three year old?” Inunaki asks while flipping the chicken wings. 

“Hmm, not that different from yesterday when I was twenty-two,” Koutarou rests his chin on his hand to look all pensive, only to earn a snort from the man sitting opposite to him, “I honestly don’t feel that much different from when I was eighteen anyways.”

“How so?” Inunaki looks up and sets the tongs down, “haven’t you changed a lot? I remember you were a scared little mess back then when you first joined us.”

“Don’t say that as if you were that much older than me, Inu-san!” Koutarou sticks out his tongue and grabs a chicken wing with his chopsticks, “but I guess my mentality hasn’t changed that much, y’know? I still think the same way in most cases.”

Inunaki hums, “maybe that’s why you are still the baby of the team. Even Miya can be more mature than you sometimes.”

“Ok, first of all, ouch? Atsumu? Really?” Koutarou throws Inunaki a hurt look, “second of all, I like being the baby of the team sometimes. I think some things are a lot easier when you’re only tryna have fun. Aaaaand, Inu-san will _have_ to take care of me if I’m the baby.”

Inunaki chokes on his chicken wing, and splutters, “what kind of caretaker complex do you have?”

Koutarou just laughs and rolls his eyes. He expects them to fall into a comfortable silence then, but Inunaki continues. 

“I asked you because I’ve been thinking of something,” Inunaki sets his chopsticks down, “I have a question for you, Bokuto Koutarou.”

Koutarou immediately swallows the meat he is chewing at the moment, and also sets his chopsticks down. This could be serious for all he knows. 

“Yes, Inu-san?”

Inunaki looks at Koutarou with a seriousness he has only seen a couple of times. “Would you move in with me?”

The question was left hanging there for a solid five seconds. 

Mainly because Koutarou and Inunaki already live together, and Koutarou is racking his brain up trying to figure out why Inunaki asked the question. 

“Hah?” Koutarou stares at Inunaki, “Inu-san, is your brain alright? We already live together?”

Inunaki huffs, “Of course my brain is alright and yes I know that. I’m asking because it’s a step up in a romantic relationship. People usually have the chance to ask this question to show they’re willing to, y’know, move forward in their relationship, but since we don’t ha--Nghn--”

Koutarou stands up, reaches over, grabs Inunaki by the collar and lands a solid (yakiniku-ish) kiss. That’s all he needs to hear as a justification from Inunaki. He understands. 

“Yes, Inu-san,” Koutarou looks down at Inunaki as he cups his face in his hands, a little breathlessly, “I will move in with you. As stupidly symbolic that may be.”

Inunaki blushes. He reaches down to his pocket and takes out his keys to their dorm. “Wanna switch?”

“Yeah.”

Inunaki is now the official owner of the set of dorm keys with an owl keychain, and Koutarou with a palm tree one. Wakayama is inscribed in tiny letters.

**Winter, 2017**

Koutarou doesn’t know when it happened, but apparently staying in Tokyo for the winter off season breaks is now a regularity for him since these breaks are usually the longest. This stay entails visiting his parents, seeing his old teammates, hanging out and bickering with Kuroo, and also having a drink with Akaashi (and monitoring the other man’s intake). It’s always about the people. 

Ok maybe he misses the yakisoba pan sold outside of Fukurodani too, but it’s mainly (80%) about the people.

So it is only natural for him to text Akaashi the moment he arrives at his parents’ house. He gets a response soon, when Akaashi suggests an izakaya a block away from his work. 

His work, now being one of the official editors for shounen vai. How fucking cool is that? 

However, Koutarou realizes that he is somehow the one more excited about Akaashi’s work among the two of them after they sit down with an order of junmai sake. Hmm good stuff. 

“I majored in Japanese Literature for a reason, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi sighs, dark circles around his eyes have worsened since the last time Koutarou saw the man, “not Japanese--I don’t know--Manga Editing.”

“Don’t you wish there was a department like that though?” Koutarou muses over the idea, “I would probably go to university for that.”

He wouldn’t.

“You wouldn’t.” Oops, caught. 

“Brutally honest as ever, ’kaashi,” Koutarou sighs, a bit too melodramatically, “but still. I think it’s a cool job. Have you seen some good mangas recently?”

“There’s this artist that I’ve been working with,” Akaashi says after taking a careful sip of his sake, “Tenma Udai. He draws up some crazy zombie stuff.”

Koutarou laughs at an image in his head of Akaashi scrunching his face, reviewing panels after panels of apocalyptic teenagers shooting zombies in the middle of the night. Akaashi glares at him knowingly. Koutarou ducks his head and rubs at the back of his head as an apology. 

Just like old times. 

“Oh, and apparently he was a Karasuno alumnus?” 

“Oooooh?” hearing the name so endearingly nostalgic makes Koutarou reminisce the past for a good second, “Karasuno, huh. I wonder how everyone from there is doing?”

“Bokuto-san, aren’t you still in touch with Hinata-kun?”

Koutarou hums, and smiles, thinking of his little disciple. The memory of the skinny orange haired boy flying midair is fresh in his mind as if they just played the 3-3 game at training camp yesterday. 

“He’s causing up some crazy stuff in Rio,” Koutarou answers, “we only FaceTime once in a while. Y’know, time zones. But I did hear he’s coming back soon.”

“Is he now?” Akaashi asks with a raised eyebrow--one of his signature moves to show his interest in a subject.

“Yup,” Koutarou nods proudly, as if it’s his own little brother they’re talking about, “he told me he is coming back next year for tryout season. MSBY is apparently one of his top choices.”

“Well, next time you speak with him, please give him my best luck wishes,” Akaashi says, then grins, “Bokuto-san is a handful, with Hinata-kun, how will Meian-san even manage?”

“Uuahh Akaaaaaashi that’s mean! Shouyou and I will be the best wing spikers!” Koutarou furrows his brows and puffs up his cheeks in such an exaggerated way that his face hurts a little. But just as always, it earns a light laugh from Akaashi. He _knew_ it would. 

Akaashi’s eyes are squinted, his lips curl into a smile that’s just right, and his hand half covering his chin. It reminds Koutarou of Akaashi’s smile #4 (who says Akaashi’s the only one who catalogs everything?), the one he has seen once at Nationals, the time he made him smile after he had a breakdown. The smile is precious and rare. It’s the cicadas screaming through the summer heat, the golden leaves dwindling in the autumn wind, the warm huffed air on the tip of your fingers in winter, the cherry blossom petal falling on the tip of your nose, and the endless stupid metaphors that reminds Koutarou of a happy Akaashi. 

In times like this, Koutarou allows himself to think about, and miss their two years together back in Fukurodani. They were innocent and free, and they ran on stolen glances and hushed kisses. Day after day, season after season, and before Koutarou could even realize, the figure who always sent the ball his way, the figure who stayed with him during lunches, the figure who was interlocked with his, had become such a regularity in his life that it came as easy as breathing. It felt as if they had unlimited time stretched in front of them. But forever never lasts. 

Was it just a fling of the youth? Or does he have the right to call his relationship with Akaashi the one in so many lifetimes? Was it childish dreaming that he needs to wake up from? Or can he continue those precious days into the presence, and keep dreaming under the pink petaled trees? Koutarou wonders, his eyes getting warm. 

Looking at Akaashi in front of him, cheeks flushed from the sake and little bits of black hair curling out, Koutarou is speechless. 

“What is it, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi is quick to notice Koutarou’s intense stare, if not a little melancholy. 

“Nothing, Akaashi,” Koutarou lies, his hands finding the pair of the black haired man. They’re long and slender, a little more tan than Koutarou’s. And they’re warm. 

Akaashi looks as though there is something to say on the tip of his tongue, but doesn’t say anything. He smiles back at Koutarou. 

Their fingers intertwine.  
  


**Spring, 2018**

Koutarou is watering Koko the cactus when Akaashi’s phone call arrives. The smile on his face when he picks up the call quickly falls when all he can hear is Akaashi’s sputtering words and labored breathing. 

Instantly, he knows this is bad. Akaashi has had panic attacks three times in front of Koutarou when they were dating. The first time over losing his wallet at the train station after their first date. They stayed at the station until 9 that night, but it was returned by a kind old lady. Second time for volleyball at InterHigh when facing Itachiyama of Koutarou’s second year. Eventually Akaashi recovered by the middle of the second set, even though they lost. And the third time when Koutarou was sick and didn’t show up at school or text Akaashi for the entire day. Akaashi thought he was dead for a solid eight hours, before he came rushing to the Bokuto household right after school, skipping volleyball practice, to a Koutarou delirious with fever. Each time, Koutarou managed to walk Akaashi out of his anxiety. Yes, including the time with the fever, Koutarou was apparently mumbling about how strong his back muscles are and a smile cracked on Akaashi’s worried face, as told by Koutarou’s mother. 

So this time, it is no different. Koutarou talks to Akaashi in the calmest possible voice he has, and asks gentle questions, untangling all of Akaashi’s strangest thoughts. For someone like Koutarou, imagining endless scenarios doesn’t do him any help. He has always been straightforward, whether it be volleyball or life. Maybe except for the past few years when he struggled with his relationship with Akaashi, but that’s mostly behind them now. 

Point being, Koutarou can calm Akaashi down, because of how different they are. ~~Sometimes~~ rarely, Koutarou gets his moments of wisdom that’s based on simple logic, and this usually saves Akaashi out of the ditch that is his own mind. 

In tonight’s case, Akaashi is falling into an inescapable cycle of being stressed by deadlines (on Friday, which is in two days), trying to hurry to get the first draft of editing done by tonight, realizing there is virtually no time and he has been losing sleep to begin with, and being stressed by deadlines. In short, Akaashi’s stress is snowballing. 

Koutarou starts with the smaller questions, asking why the editing work tonight is particularly hard. Akaashi explains that it’s not that it’s particularly hard, it’s just a pile of panels he needs to go through. Koutarou then suggests making a plan and dividing them into portions. Akaashi emphasizes that there is no time. Then Koutarou asks if the editor in chief would allow a day of extra time. Akaashi pauses, and answers that he has never even considered that possibility because of how caught up he is with getting it done. Koutarou waits as Akaashi texts his supervisor, and finally smiles again when Akaashi reports back the good news that the deadline can be pushed to next Monday. 

“There you have it!” Koutarou exclaims, and finishes up watering Fuwa the fluffy asparagus fern, “you earned yourself two days of extra time for planning _and_ editing!”

“Bokuto-san, thank you,” Koutarou can hear the smile in the other man’s voice, “guess at the end of the day, you still know me the best.”

Koutarou hums in agreement. But in reality, he doesn’t know Akaashi the best anymore. Not really. Nowadays, when a distance away, which is the new normal, Koutarou feels as though he’s looking at Akaashi through a curtain of half see-through linen. He can make out a general shape, but the vivid details that used to outline Akaashi with such clarity in Koutarou’s mind often slip through his fingers. But he doesn’t say it aloud, because he knows doing so truly helps no one. 

“How is it going with Inunaki-san?”

Uh fuck. 

The question catches Koutarou off guard. 

Truth be told, quite a lot has happened between him and Inunaki. Koutarou hasn’t told anyone about the change in his relationship with Inunaki because the reasons behind it are complex and personal. Inunaki has asked him to keep it between them two, and after their long talk that lasted until 3 in the morning, Koutarou understood. So he has kept it a secret up until now. 

“Well, eeehh, Inu-san broke up with me about two weeks ago. But I’m afraid I can’t tell you why.”

Koutarou knows no other way to put it. He cringed at his own words for making it sound too much like a joke, and waited for a response from Akaashi. 

A pause, then, “oh.”

Koutarou wants to desperately ask if Akaashi is hopeful in that little “oh” of his, if Akaashi is thinking of going back to before, if there is a _chance_ now. But he refrains. Koutarou has learned to refrain from his most pressing instincts a long time ago. 

“Yeah.”

“Are you doing ok, Bokuto-san?”

Koutarou thinks for a second. He glances at his plant friends, the pictures of the Black Jackals teammates he has stuck to the wall, and the keychain of the Wakayama prefecture palm tree still attached to his dorm key. Koutarou smiles. He thinks he finally understands what it means to be alone but not lonely. 

“Yeah, Akaashi. I’m doing good.”  
  


**Winter, 2018**

The Black Jackals win against the Schweiden Adlers. 

The game itself doesn’t hold that much significance. It’s a regular game to kick off the game season for the V.League Division 1 teams, and Koutarou surely has been to bigger games (see 2 Olympic games). But symbolically, Koutarou knows this is important. This is the debut game for Hinata, and from a few meters away during the game, Koutarou can practically see all the electrical sparks flying between him and Kageyama. 

Ah young love. Koutarou smiles at the pair’s conversation about who has more wins between the thousands of little contests they had. 

The game wraps up, signatures are signed for fans, and not before long, Akaashi tracks him down for a special interview for shounen vai. Along with him, is Tenma the manga artist. They greet and smile politely at each other. There is a strange domestic vibe coming from the two black haired men, just from the way they exist and breathe around each other. Koutarou doesn’t mind though. He doesn’t. 

But he instantly feels better about himself when he and Akaashi have that little moment of just “them” when Koutarou was talking about him being the ordinary player--Tenma looks as though rocket science is being explained to him. But Akaashi catches on in no time. Honestly, Akaashi should know the meaning of “ordinary”, being a Literature major and all. 

After the interview ends, Tenma excuses himself to catch an earlier train back to Tokyo. He is talking about finishing the zombie series, which, if he’s being 100% honest, Koutarou is a little bit excited of. So that leaves Koutarou and Akaashi a good chunk of time saying hi to their old friends together. Daichi from Karasuno is here, and so is Kuroo, that smug bastard. They get way too hyped over the details of the game just now, reminisce about the old times, and make promises for future meetups. 

Just like old times. 

* * *

Koutarou offers to walk Akaashi to the train station when most of the stadium empties out. It is early December, and the longer nighttime of winter drags on as the sun has long set. The streets of Sendai are half empty, most people on their way rushing home. The streetlights and the tiny sparkles coming from buildings around them are the only light source. The freezing wind doesn’t seem to bother either of them though, they are simply engulfed in the presence of each other. 

“Tenma-san seems interesting,” Koutarou comments, after Akaashi finishes his talk about today’s interview. 

The two of them stay silent for a second. 

Then Akaashi bursts into laughter. 

“Don’t-don’t tell me,” Akaashi giggles, and a horrified amazed Koutarou looks on, “Bokuto-san was-was-”

“Akaashi don’t say it-” Koutarou warns. 

“ _Jealous_?” Akaashi finishes, wheezing. 

“Bahh that’s so embarrassing when you put it like that!” Koutarou grunts frustratingly, covering his face.

Akaashi’s giggle subdues, and he looks at Koutarou with a faint smile. Behind those glasses, the emerald eyes look… happy. Koutarou feels his cheeks flushing, so he turns around and struts off into the night. He doesn’t need to turn around to know Akaashi follows. 

The train station isn’t far away from the stadium, because it’s a busy part of town. A few minutes of strolling has brought them to their destination. Koutarou descends the stairs to the platform with Akaashi, because he wants to stretch their time together as long as possible. He has always unconsciously done this, but it is only in the recent years when he finally reaches adulthood, that he realizes that is what he’s doing every time he whines that he hasn’t had enough food when he’s already full, or takes the long way home because “it’s prettier”. Everything leads him back to Akaashi, and there beside him is where Koutarou wants to stay. 

But it isn’t realistic. Because somehow, they’re saying goodbye again. 

The platform is almost empty, with two other passengers standing far away at the same side as Akaashi and Koutarou. 

_The train bound to Tokyo is approaching in two minutes, please stand clear._

A gust of wind rushes by the same time the announcement sounds on the speakers, Koutarou shivers. Panic swells in him. 

This is it, his head tells him. This is just like six years ago. That now or never moment. Surely, there will be opportunities in the future when they will FaceTime or call or even meet up in person but… Koutarou feels as though his time is slipping away. It has to be now. This exact moment, on the platform of the train bound to Tokyo, threatening to take Akaashi away from him forever. 

The words you never got to say… if now… then never. 

“You know, Akaashi,” the words somehow come out as a little too intentionally fast paced, “I never asked. What was the reason that you broke up with me those years ago?”

His heart thumps as if it wants to break loose. 

Akaashi looks at Koutarou, his mouth forming an “O” because of the unexpectedness of the question. Then he closes his mouth into a smile. A bitter smile. 

“You, you are the reason I broke up with you,” Akaashi says calmly, but a voice crack gives him away, “because you are going to be someone I can’t catch up with.”

Koutarou is stunned. He has always thought that Akaashi broke up with him because of the eventual physical distance but… never this. 

“All these years… I always know that Bokuto-san is the one to leave because you have bigger and better things for you,” Akaashi swallows hard, blinking back his tears, “and it’s selfish of me, to think that forcing you away can hurt less for me.”

Koutarou opens his mouth to speak, but all he can do is let his tears roll down his cheeks. 

“It doesn’t,” Akaashi breaks into a smile, huffing white puffs of air, “I’m still so so so in love with you but... now you’re a professional player with thousands of other people in love with you and I'm just… me.”

Akaashi stops, and looks at Koutarou. 

“Akaashi you’re…” 

_My soul mate--_

_The love of my life--_

_The light at the end of my dark tunnels--_

_The broken promises that we all somehow manage to keep--_

_The eight wonderful, gorgeous and tethering years of my life that I’ve known you, and then some--_

“...My best friend.”

Koutarou whispers as the train rushes into the station, wind bringing their hair before their eyes, dancing. 

Because Akaashi is. 

And some things, as Koutarou gradually learns, once the perfect timing of a lifetime passes, maybe are better left unsaid. They both carry the laughs, the tears and the scars from each other, and that is enough. 

Akaashi all but smiles, with tears on his cheeks. But it’s not a #5 smile, it’s a #6. 

The train comes to a full stop, and Akaashi waves at Koutarou. 

Koutarou waves back. 

Then Akaashi turns away, and gets on the train. They hold eye contact as the train leaves the station. Koutarou’s eyes follow Akaashi’s figure, until he can’t even see the train anymore, disappearing into the night. 

When Koutarou exits the station, snowflakes are busy making their way down, dwindling and shifting, unsure. It’s the first snow of the winter. The way they fall reminds Koutarou of an awful lot of cherry blossoms on a particular day in spring many years ago. 

Koutarou chuckles, hangs his head back, and lets the snowflakes fall on his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and he’s under that tree again. 

The words that never made it out of Koutarou’s lips that summer morning as a seventeen year old when he could do nothing but cling onto Akaashi’s hands, are simply dissolved in his chest... after six long and kind years, agonizing and painstakingly awakening, yet vibrant with pink hues.

**Afterword**

[List of Akaashi Keiji’s Smiles] _compiled by Bokuto Koutarou, 02/04/2012_

**#1** : polite, gentle. Used most in front of senpais and parents. Occasionally used for sarcastic purposes (see #3).

**#2** : wide grin, victorious, content. Used most with teammates at Fukurodani, whenever he tosses a good set. Or whenever ~~Bokuto Koutarou~~ anyone scores. (Note: also used sometimes after sex with Bokuto Koutarou)

**#3** : sarcastic. Used most with Bokuto Koutarou whenever the latter says something dumb. 

**#4** : light laugh/chuckle, usually with a hand covering his chin. Used most whenever he’s genuinely at his happiest. (Note: Bokuto Koutarou’s personal favorite, would like to see more)

**#5** : similar to #2, but with tears in eyes. 

**#6** : accepting. Used most under cherry blossoms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this is sugarispoison. this fic took me almost an entire month to write, and in the process of, ive been thru a lot of emotional rollercoaster. this is arguably one of the proudest works of mine (except for any sports related stuff pls go easy on me idk anything abt sports tbh). heavily inspired by 5cm/sec, i want to write abt the helplessness that we all face when we eventually grow up and wake up from the dream that’s childhood and innocence. hopefully the ending wasn’t too cruel or depressing, bc imo it still ended on a positive note. for more of my ramblings see ch2 lol.  
> as always, thank u for sitting thru this long ass fic of mine (w the bonus of my nonsense self reflection) that rly just started out as an idea that possessed my brain for two weeks. 
> 
> any kudos comments r greatly appreciated <3
> 
> find me crying over bkak daily on the [bird app](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison).


	2. unnecessary ramblings

ok, hello, hi, first of all, phew. what a fic to write. drained the life out of me, but in the best way possible. if u read all that and still decide to see me ramble more, ty. come take a seat.

as i mentioned, this fic is heavily inspired by 5 centimeters per second, one of the most gorgeous and painful anime movie i've watched. since then, the idea of writing a fic abt it has been sitting in my mind. ik its brutal to give bokuaka, out of any haikyuu ship, this treatment bc lets b honest these mfs married the day they graduated from hs, but im just so intrigued by the dynamics between the two of them, one being outrageously infantile and the other overthinking his ass on a daily basis. the gap between the end of their third year and the adlers bj game is such a good place to explore their relationship, thus, this monster of a fic. 

the main theme that i've been trying to explore w this fic is realism. for those lit majors out there, u know whats up. in short, realism is a shift from romanticism in the 1900's, and instead of focusing on heros and gods, writers start looking at slice of life stories of normal human beings. there is no idealistic happily ever after's. there is only that helplessness that humans have when facing life. 

bleak, bleurgh. 

but i think it ties in pretty well w the idea of growing up. esp for bokuto. he gets his heart broken by akaashi, gets confused by akaashi, realizes he needs to learn to live on his own, meets inunaki and falls in love a second time, then moving on from that and becoming his own self, even if at the end, he still clings onto the memory of his youth. bc that's what we all do. we experience heartbreaks, cry abt it, then move on w the best memories. 

speaking of heartbreaks, akaashi is not a jerk. he made some choices, the same way bokuto did, and he had to face his consequences. he's also human. and as someone who also overthinks abt the most random shit, i understand how akaashi can talk himself out of "trying" w bokuto. the girl he decided to date--she's also a surrogate for akaashi's feelings towards bokuto. and at the end he's still in love w bokuto, the same way bokuto is w him. 

and now u prolly wanna punch me for not giving them a happy ending but, as cliche as it sounds, it's life. that's how it works. u eventually grow up from a bubble, and once the distance between u and that special someone from when u were 17 widens enough, there's no going back to the way it was. 

another note that i wanna make is for inunaki. inunaki was genuinly in love w bokuto for the entirety of the fic. and he still is, at the end, as one of bokuto's best friends. his reasoning for breaking up w bokuto, tho, is not something i can include in this fic. just bc of how this fic is already long and drawn out enough. i will b, however, exploring inunaki's side of things in another [short fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27168424) that i already started writing. so stay tuned for that if u wanna know more. 

and finally, i wanna point out two small references. first one is akaashi's fave order of strawberry soda--if u've watched ride ur wave u'd get it. if u haven't... go watch it! second one is the 5 centimeters between bokuto and akaashi's lips when they _almost_ kiss in the spring 2016 segment. yea, cruel. i cried too. 

aaaaand that concludes my rant. this is written at 1:41 am after a mental breakdown session so it's strange. ik. 

ty for reading this far, it rly means a lot to me that u even care enough to read this stupid thing. ik ppl don't usually do this but i just have such strong emotions for this fic that i had to write this down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come yell at me on [twt](https://twitter.com/sugar_is_poison)?


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